Muggle Me
by persephonella
Summary: Complete. AU. After the Percy/Arthur row—Percy wanders into muggle London where he is a victim of a memory charm during a Death Eater attack. Having no memories of his life in the wizarding world and lacking the most basic understanding of how the muggle world works, Percy struggles to adapt. Audrey, a muggle, takes interest… and an owl is following Percy around for some reason.
1. Lost Job! Return to the Burrow If Found!

_the title alone took me two weeks to agree on! originally this was called... something awful i can't even disclose it._

 _i can already tell that the next chapter is going to be extremely difficult to write! as will be the row, and the Death Eaters scene! i have a very particular writing style so having Percy be told by Fudge that he has a promotion is going to be extremely difficult to write - but i also don't want to skip straight into the aftermath. sigh. i think you'll be frustrated with me! three to four chapters just to set the plot in motion!_

 _trigger warning for **self-harm!** oh, that's surprising isn't it? _

* * *

**Muggle Me**

Chapter One: Lost Job! Return to the Burrow If Found!

* * *

 _"PLEASE, MADAME UNDERSECRETARY!"_ nineteen-year-old Percy Weasley was shaking in his werewolf brown plimsolls, which looked rattier than Scabbers. He was holding a stack of blotchy-inked papers into his shaking arms and following Dolores Umbridge down the dungeons. She was heading to the Wizengamot meeting that would decide his department's fate. "You must understand my-my predicament! You see… Mr-Mr Crouch and I were not particularly close at all! It wasn't like he'd invited me over for tea and-and-and… I had to run _HIS_ department to run when he was gone! _Dumbledore put my brother under water in Hogwarts without consulting me first!"_

Twelve O.W.L's and here he was—sat as the department crup. His whole department sat on their arses whilst he did their work and they threw him under the Knight bus… and it was driving beyond the allotted speed limit!

"I did everything I was asked to do," Percy rambled incessantly. "I never dared question Mr Crouch because he was my superior after all. He was ill! He'd just lost his wife, who he loved very much! I didn't have any reason to…"

His papers were flying from his hands. Percy's eyes were red-rimmed and sore as he watched her about to enter the courtroom. He remembered how it felt like to be excited about the big green box in his mum's room. Nine-year-old Percy was _so SURE_ that it was his birthday gift until his father announced that it was for Bill for making prefect!

"He didn't know me!" Percy cried out in desperation. _"_ He didn't even know _MY NAME!"_

Dolores Umbridge stopped in her tracks and turned around with a smile faker than Celestina Warbeck's hair.

"Weasley, isn't it?" she sneered. Suddenly, he felt like a first year about to hand in his first essay to Professor Snape.

Percy could not believe that his knees were buckling under this four-foot-ten strawberry tart in purple robes. He slowly nodded his head and bit on his lip so tightly he could almost taste his own failure. "Y-yes," he whispered softly. Something inside him snapped, as he felt the pressure of her gaze on him and he didn't know if he was brave or idiotic. He might as well since he knew deep down he lost his bloody job. "Mr Crouch was part of the Wizengamot too! If there was anyone that was supposed to notice that he wasn't himself, it should have been _YOU,_ Madame Secretary!"

Dolores looked amused. "Don't you find it fitting that we're deciding your department's fate is in the dungeons?" her smile was mocking him. "I think that the Ministry only hires the very efficient."

Percy nodded his head apathetically. "It's a mystery why they hired you then!"

Why did he care? The first time he met the rat-woman, he wondered if the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures classified her yet. In fact, his proof that Merlin existed was the fact that she had yet to reproduce. Oh, and he wanted it to go on the record that before he met her, Percy didn't know that Dementors came in pink!

He leaned down to start picking up his trail of papers. The ink hadn't had time to set. It was smudged from the rainstorm outside. You'd think that the American Thunderbird came to pay them a visit with this rain!

He looked as dishevelled as Oliver Wood after he came in from his five-am Quidditch practice. He sighed deeply into his ink-stained Ministry robes. It was impeccable two days back, and now, it had holes, rips and stains. Percy smelled like half-off coffee, cheap body cologne and fake dragonhide couches. He also felt dirty because he was wearing the same pair of trousers for a whole week—he, _PERCY WEASLEY_ , was using a scouring charm to clean his clothes!

Instead of going back home to lick his wounds ( _how unhygienic!_ Percy thought), he decided to embarrass himself further by knocking on Penelope's flat at around eleven at night.

He tucked his stack of useless, scrolled-up parchment paper under his arm. As he sipped a cup of almost white-coloured coffee, a wet, muddy Percy was going to tell Penelope Jane Clearwater to go on without him! When he slowly withered away from humiliation when he got sacked from his job, she should continue her healer studies far away from here… where she didn't have to admit that she once shagged a pathetic loser such as himself!

He knocked on the door. "Penny?" he pulled out his spare keys to her flat. "Penelope?"

 _Hmm!_ Percy walked inside the flat. The state of it! He didn't know the rainstorm happened indoors too!

Percy had been saving for Penelope's engagement ring since he first started exchanging letters with her in his fifth year. Obviously, he liked to plan ahead, and he was most definitely _NOT_ going to give Penelope a second-hand engagement ring! It had been at least six months since Percy bought the ring and he still didn't know what a karat was, or what the clarity of the stone meant…but Percy was most definitely clear about how much that glorified stone was going to cost him! He'd been carrying it around in his Ministry robes before they'd broken it off, and he had specifically charmed it so that prying, freckled hands wouldn't be able to break the enchantment without the help of Bill and his whole team. It was a pity they didn't last. Penelope wanted to focus on her career. Percy should've gotten the hint when she started refusing to take off her pants when they were… _um_ … petting the dragon.

Percy walked inside the room and felt his stomach twist as he saw the loaves of bread sat on the kitchen counter. They were so stale and hard. It had the density of one of Hagrid's rock cakes, which he was sure wasn't many karats.

The carpet that she had looked very nice. It went with the sludge growing at the side of the wall too.

"I _KNOW_ that look on your face!" Penelope suddenly appeared beside him, clad in a bright purple Puffskeins dressing gown. Percy mistook the slippers she was wearing for Kneazles. His hands started trembling, still clutching the bread. "You're one to talk! You're the one that's covered in mud, Mrs I Use a Scouring Charm on Soap! I—"

 _"I'M RUINED!"_ Percy yelled, his world crashing before his eyes. "I'm beyond repair! I'm almost as bad as _THIS!"_ he waved around the bread loaf. "Except a dragon might still find me edible… if aggravated and in serious famine!"

"A baby dragon maybe," Penelope stared over at his frame—or whatever was left of it. "Or a glumbumble maybe!"

Percy wished Penelope was a beast (such as Dolores Umbridge), so he could smack her over the head with her bread.

"Well, if _HARRY POTTER_ turned out to be right, which he is _NOT_ because he can't be right because… then-then my whole existence means _NOTHING!_ What an absolute shock because I'm sure he has to be right because everyone hates me and I'm never right! _What is the point of having twelve O.W.L's if you're NEVER RIGHT?_ " Percy thrust the stale, seeded brown bread into her chest. That was more foreplay than they'd ever had come to think of it. "Well, you can use that as a weapon against the Death Eaters… because _THAT_ is criminal! Even mould has refused to grow on it!"

Penelope's face softened as she reached over to hold his shoulder. "When's the last time you slept?"

 _"SLEEP?"_ Percy's hands were trembling so much he spilled his two-sickle coffee flavoured milk on the carpet. It went along with the rest of the multicoloured stains. He supposed when he went tomorrow to pack his things from his department before he killed himself, he could take Penelope's carpet down to the Department of Mysteries. " _SLEEP_ is reserved for people that haven't been called Git of the Year every single year in their Hogwarts' yearbook!"

Penelope wrapped her arms around him. "You were also captain of the debate team, Prefect—and Head Boy!"

" _That's_ why they called me Git of the Year!" Percy's shoulders slumped dejectedly.

Penelope shook her head, laughing. "Really now, Mr Percival Ignatius Weasley?" she said in a sing-song voice. "So, it has nothing to do with the fact that you make Gilderoy Lockhart seem modest with the amount of gloating you do?"

His heart was in the process being butchered, not unlike a golden snidget in a Quidditch game. "I do _NOT_ gloat!"

Penelope smirked a him. "I don't think you realise how insufferable you can be!" she laughed. "I was your girlfriend and there were times I wanted to throttle you over the head with my copy of _The Monster Book of Monsters!"_

 _Her? Harm a book like that? NO!_ Percy thought bitterly. "My big fat head would crack it into two halves."

Penelope laughed even harder. "And people say you aren't funny!" but he wasn't laughing. "You're hilarious."

Percy's face was rigid. "Yes, I'm absolutely hilarious! Especially when people insist on making a mockery of me!"

 _People don't need to make a mockery of you, Perce! Cause you do it to yourself!_ his inner contemptuous monologue sounded a lot like his tender twin brothers. Why couldn't they go suck on a shipment of Acid Pops and leave him alone?

"It's not like that, Percy," Penelope tried to assure him. "You're the middle child! You had to get lost in the shuffle."

"I thought that was impossible…" Percy replied coldly, "with all my _GLOATING!"_

It was three in the morning by the time that he arrived at the Burrow, fuming over his interaction with Penelope. And to think! He used to share Jammy Dodgers with her and ate the jam filling because she hated it. Well, _HE_ hated it too!

He was the one that was insufferable? She was the one that took enough birth control to ensure protection for the couple next door and suggested sterilising herself! Percy wouldn't sterilise a crup.

 _HE_ was the one that was insufferable? Not his twin brothers that elected him to be the star of their daily ridicule and torture—an event that even his own _FATHER_ enjoyed? _He_ was the one that was insufferable? They didn't even give a rat's arse about the fact that he'd holed himself in his room all of fifth year exchanging letters with sweet Penelope! Who apparently wanted to throttle him with one of her favourite books! He might as well be the family ghoul!

 _NOBODY_ in this whole bloody universe had any right to call him _INSUFFERABLE!_

But he did agree with it, didn't he? In the small window of time Percy wasn't moaning about his accomplishments or burying his head into a boring book, he spent digging nails into his arms until he bled. He broke an old mug once to use the pieces to hurt himself. Why shouldn't he? He was _SO_ insufferable! And he dared to spill his blood onto his mum's Christmas sweater! How dare he? That was why he was such a git! No appreciation for anyone but _HIMSELF_.

If _HARRY POTTER_ was right about You-Know-Who coming back (and he probably was because Percy never had _anything_ go his way), then he should just become a Death Eater! It wasn't like his family knew the difference…

He was so sick of this! He was sick of barely eating and sleeping to the point where he was afraid of disapparating in case he'd splinch himself from exhaustion! He was sick of toiling himself to the point where his limbs felt like they were about to fall off and have nothing to show for it but the jeers and scrutiny of others! Percy was sick of people treating him like a redheaded house-elf—they only seemed to remember he existed when they wanted something done but were too lazy to do it themselves. Speaking of house-elves, he was sick of not having _ONE_ pair of good socks because his family stole all his good clothes and he was stuck with Charlie's hand-me-downs!

How was this _FAIR?_ There were Death Eaters, rapists, sexists, murderers and bullies running amuck in a nihilistic society, practicing the Dark Arts with no disregard for human life and Percy felt like he was below _all of them._

Percy wasn't sure how he could live in a giant house with all these people and still feel completely and utterly alone.

At the Burrow, he collapsed into his cold bed (which he hadn't slept in for weeks!) and sobbed recklessly into his pillow. He felt an excruciating crushing pain in his chest that made him feel like he might drop dead any second. The last time he went to St Mungo's for it, they told him that he'd managed to pathetically worry himself into a panic attack! _The gall of them!_ Healers were supposed to be some of the most intelligent people in the wizarding world, so how could they come to such a stupid conclusion? _And_ he was not depressed!

Percy felt dead on the inside. What a pity! He was alive when his mum gave birth to him. At least he died a prefect!

He cried so hard his body felt like it had just been maimed by Fenrir Greyback and then chewed out by a manticore.

Brilliant. _NOW_ , he had a thumping headache and couldn't sleep. How absolutely spectacular!

Percy sat up and was horrified to realise that he'd gotten mud all over his _PALE BLUE_ sheets. Frustrated, Percy picked up his sheets and went to chuck the sheets and his dirty clothes in the laundry for his mum. He was going to take a shower before he headed back to the Ministry. Unlike the rest of his brothers, he didn't want until his mum was peeling underpants off their floors and wondering what kind of slodge they'd manage to grow under their desks! Percy had seen more species of plants in the Burrow than he did the Herbology greenhouse back at Hogwarts.

Putting on a towel over his body, Percy went to lavatory to take a bath. The second he opened the door? _BOOM!_

He ended up flung backwards and rammed into the wall. He rubbed the side of his head, which felt swollen and hot. Fred and George emerged from the lavatory, pointing to a paper taped on the door.

 _BEWARE AND DO NOT ENTER!_ Written on the lavatory door! Why not? Did Bill come back from Egypt and decide to give his hair a trim in the bathroom but unfortunately, it had become sentient over time and was about to kill them all? Did Charlie come back from Romania, drunk off his arse and was currently throwing up liquids that Percy didn't even know a body could produce? Did mum buy half-off bolognese again? Did Ron try to do the stupid loops and twirls with his broom?

 _"OI, PERCE!"_ Fred's voice was making Percy's head pound even harder. "I thought with all twelve O.W.L's—"

"—you'd be able to read!" George finished off, pointing to the sign. " _We're_ using this lavatory right now."

"I could read just fine! It is called a lavatory!" Percy snapped back. "Not a _LABORATORY!"_

"What are you three on about _NOW?"_ Molly walked into the scene, rubbing her tired, chocolate-brown eyes. She was clad in the same purple Puffskeins dressing gown that Penelope was wearing. Percy shuddered. "It's five in the morning!"

"Look what you did, Perce!" George gave him a scolding look. "Your big head hitting the wall woke mum up!"


	2. I Also Lost My Biscuits and Family!

_i am SHOCKED at how hard this chapter was to write! i love Percy angst though, especially when he's sat there pitying himself so much!_

 _ **Myra109** : thank you! i also like this idea, but at the same time, i am mortified! it's definitely going to be a challenging fanfiction to execute and i want to give it its time and patience! i've gotten to the point where i've reread this chapter so many times it's started to become extremely dull! _

* * *

**Muggle Me**

Chapter Two: I Also Lost My Biscuits and... Family!

* * *

Percy was sat on the floor, cursing the crook that stole his milk chocolate digestives. He paid _FULL PRICE_ for that!

He used his old Hogwarts trunk to clear his desk. He wasn't anywhere near done and his trunk was already overflowing with five daily planners, three types of _Mrs O'Neill's Magical Antiperspirant Solution: Preventing You from Getting Clocked in The Head by Your Date Tonight_ , five bottles of ultra-strong disinfectant, twenty pairs of disposable gloves and a body spray that made the office Kneazle chase him around every time he went for a cup of coffee.

 _Percival, what have you done?_ He could hear his mum chiding him. _I wouldn't use this much cleaning product on a pig!_

 _I know! I've seen the twins!_ Percy couldn't believe he was replying to his own inner monologue.

"Weatherby!" when he heard someone calling for him, he tried to stand up and thrashed his head against his desk.

Percy rubbed his head. He didn't have any health insurance anymore, so _this_ was just brilliant!

 _"Yes?"_ Percy stood up slowly. Merlin, there was that blasted Avery Smith by the door! He had to be six inches shorter than Percy was and at least nine stones heavier than him—all cream filling!

Percy wondered if Avery had scoffed all his chocolate digestives!

"The Minister called to see you, Percy! I bet it's a talent to get sacked this early on! You know… I did mention before that there was something suspicious about Crouch's behaviour! If he wasn't under the influence of a Death Eater, he would've let _ME_ look after the department instead of… well, you've done a great job considering that you obviously bit more off than you could chew! Oh, did you know that I've heard that a rumour that your family is so big because your father couldn't afford protection! Is that true?!" Avery eyed Percy up too. Pity there wasn't much to take in. "Did you know that the Minister is very impressed with the report that I wrote on werewolves?"

 _Cornelius Fudge might be impressed, but I bet you weren't when you found out he isn't a confection!_ Percy thought acerbically.

"I personally think they're nothing more than household crups that want to have a shag with the moon!" Avery laughed, blonde hair falling in front of his steely blue eyes. "I can't imagine why the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures classified them so high up—along with manticores! _Overgrown Kneazles with wings!"_

 _That's what you think! All you have to do is sit on them and they'd be crying out for mercy!_ Percy smiled weakly at him.

Percy was wearing an oversized beige shirt that made him feel like a Herbology activist, and pair of pinstriped grey trousers that were so big he had to clip them up with his suspenders. He had a bunch of unused parchment paper scrolls tucked under his arm... he looked quite collected for someone whose life was over actually! Well, _that_ was what he thought two hours ago before he broke down sobbing uncontrollably under his desk. Bloody pathetic!

 _WAIT! DID HE JUST SAY THE MINISTER OF BLOODY MAGIC WANTED TO SEE ME?!_ Percy felt faint.

Percy's head was spinning, and he felt lightheaded because he didn't have any milk chocolate digestives to scoff.

Him! Being sacked by the Minister of Magic himself… what a marvellous treat! How many people could say that they'd directly been sacked by the Minister? This was the best and worst day of his life! Holy Nearly Headless Nick! Merlin be good! Thank Thor and the gigantic hammer he must've thrashed straight into his skull— _HE DISAPPOINTED THE MINISTER SO MUCH THAT HE HAD ARRANGED FOR PERCY TO SEE HIM PERSONALLY!_

Percy nearly dropped his humerus back in the lobby running towards the Minister's office. He'd kept him waiting for a whole _SIX MINUTES_. Percy shuddered, disturbed his foolishness. He felt like Pansy Parkinson meeting one of the debonair members of The Weird Sisters whilst wearing her shortest Hogwarts skirt! He wondered if this was how Ron might feel like if the Chudley Canons actually won something in the next decade or so!

When he got to Fudge's office, Percy had a face-splitting smile. _WOW_. The Minister drank tea! Percy drank that too!

"Mr Minister!" Percy could barely contain himself. It was extremely embarrassing. "Did you send for me?"

He watched the Minister jolt up from his seat. Camomile tea came flying everywhere. "I called for Percy Weasley."

The Minister of Magic _KNEW HIS NAME!_ Percy felt like he'd downed a euphoria-inducing elixir.

"I'm Percy Weasley!" he called out and realised he sounded like an embarrassing first year. "I mean… _err_ … sir…"

Fudge was trying to wipe off camomile tea from his desk. He didn't even call a house-elf to do it! Him! The Minister!

Percy felt like he had to erase all those memories of him and his mum picking strawberries from summertime fields just to make room for all these three-thousand-Galleon moments with the Minister for Magic.

"Sir, it is _SUCH_ an honour to meet you!" Percy suddenly lost all his senses, including the ones that helped him not make a fool of himself. He reached out to grab the Minister's sweaty palm and started shaking it. The Minister _perspired!_ Percy could offer him some of the antiperspirant in his school trunk in the pocket of his Ministry robes. "I'm quite privileged to be sacked by you personally! Not many people get to see you in person like this! I… I had a gigantic poster of you in a wall in my room! I had to take it down unfortunately because we had a flobberworm infestation issue in my house—did you know my brothers think I'm a spineless flobberworm? Haha—and-and- _and_ … _well_ , my ex-girlfriend thought you were a smug git that couldn't tell his head from his arse! _But it's alright!_ She said the same thing about me! We broke up because she wants to focus on her career and she told me I'm too demanding and I'm not very good at… _well_ , you must know what I'm talking about… that's her opinion anyway! Her sister said I was good at it!"

Percy couldn't believe he told the Minister more about his love life than his parents. Or his diary for that matter.

Fudge looked like he'd just seen a werewolf transform in front of his eyes. Percy supposed he'd call Avery in now!

"Yes, yes, yes," Fudge replied, as Percy fixed his glasses. "Twelve O.W.L's! That's very impressive, my boy!"

"Thank you so much, Mr Minister…sir!" Percy was _his boy?_ Most people would say that to a crup that hadn't wrangled their slippers when they were away. Of course, it was the biggest compliment that Percy had ever received—along with Snape telling him that he didn't completely botch up his assignment. He was so chuffed his hands had started shaking again! Really! One would think he was meeting the Minister for Magic! "About-about Mr Crouch—"

"Let's not talk about Barty," Fudge waved it off like it was nothing. Like the past few months that Percy spent fighting with the Wizengamot disappeared into ether. Pity Percy was still so sleep-deprived that he couldn't believe he wasn't walking down the Hogwarts stairs right now. "It could've happened to anyone—and he had a _whole building_ to notice his-his unusual behaviour recently! If you'd ask me, we should really be blaming ourselves… but it's just politics! They want a scapegoat and all that rubbish! _BUT_ what I wanted you to come here for is for something entirely different."

 _You've eaten my chocolate digestives?_ Percy felt like he'd just be hit by a Bludger.

"Pardon?" Percy couldn't believe what he'd just heard. He had to be back in the Burrow. When he opened the lavatory and got smacked into the wall this morning, he must've passed out from his own listlessness!

"Yes, yes, yes!" Fudge beamed. "I've noticed the amount of hard work you've put into Barty's department—and just out of Hogwarts too! It's all very remarkable! It's led me to think that… how would you like it if you had a position in the Minister's office as _MY_ personal junior assistant? I need someone to help me deal with this-this… publicity with Harry Potter! And-and that _FOOL_ Albus Dumbledore! Honestly, I might need a department dedicated just to trying to get him sanctioned! Of course, you'd have your own office—and you'd be the youngest person in this position!"

 _CORNELIUS FUDGE WAS PROMOTING HIM?_ As his junior assistant? He was being promoted for his _MUCK-UP?_

This was fishier than practicing ichthyomancy smack in the middle of the Great Lake! But…

"But sir! My-my family sides with Albus Dumbledore and-and… Harry Potter!" Percy fumbled.

Percy felt elated at the thought of a promotion! He'd only felt this good that one time in his first year when his father woke him up at three in the morning on Christmas Day. They snuck off to the kitchen and ate the last piece of banoffee pie together. It had just been them and Percy even let his father have his mum's homemade banana pastry cream that he'd fight a Norwegian Ridgeback for. Eleven-year-old Percy thoroughly believed that this was a turning point and the next morning, his father would wake up and realise that he'd been neglecting him! And it had been on Christmas Day too! Well, then he discovered the next morning that his father peered into the fridge and asked who'd eaten the last banoffee pie slice. Arthur had been saving it for himself and Percy got in trouble for admitting that he did.

Percy was so gutted! He didn't even eat the pastry cream… and to think Christmas used to be his favourite holiday!

"I'm aware about your family's stance on Dumbledore and Harry Potter!" Fudge frowned. "But do you agree?"

" _ME_ , sir?" Percy didn't know! This was a lot harder than sitting in his Transfiguration N.E.W.T's. "I don't!"

Percy felt very hesitant. He used to believe that Dumbledore was a genius… but then in the span of the last four years, Ron ended up fighting a troll and his sister nearly dead in her first year in Hogwarts. Just last month, Ron was tossed carelessly in a lake as part of the Triwizard Tournament and it didn't seem to bother _ANYONE_ that it happened! It didn't bother his family! Dumbledore _ALLOWED_ that to happen and his favouritism towards Harry Potter was getting on Percy's last nerve. Not to mention, his _FAMILY'S_ favouritism towards Harry was killing him inside. Percy bet his father would remember sharing a slice of banoffee pie with Harry Potter! He'd let him have the pastry cream too…

Honestly, why did he bother coming home at all when The Boy Who Lived could just take his place in the family?

He'd spent fifteen years of his life believing that the only reason that he seemed to fade into his freckled redheaded family was because he was the middle child. Percy tried to tell himself that it was best that he was the one that was forgotten—not Bill or Charlie, Fred or George, Ron or Merlin forbade, _GINNY_. So, it literally destroyed him to think of how his whole family accepted Harry so readily. Even dull, bookish Hermione seemed more interesting than him!

In fact, he was sure his family would be more accepting of a flobberworm than they would of him.

"Well, then I don't understand what the problem is!" Fudge took out another mug and placed it on the table. A kettle whizzed into the room and poured another thing of camomile tea in the cup. "It'll be a shame if someone as talented as yourself gets held back by his family, don't you think? I would've noticed your striking set of skills much earlier on if I didn't know that you were Arthur Weasley's son… Merlin! I never understood why that office needed so many people anyway. Hardly ever get work done! And those muggle toys? Honestly! _What rubbish!"_

Percy loved the Minister but-but-but… he had no right to call his father's job rubbish!

 _Why not? When has he ever defended YOU!_ Percy thought bitterly to himself, his heart sinking in his chest.

"I never understood it either," Percy replied, and he felt like he was betraying his whole family.

Fudge laughed and slapped him on the shoulder like they were old mates off for a drink—well, a drink of camomile tea. Even though the last thing Percy needed was camomile tea because he was almost falling asleep on Fudge's desk. Embarrassing!

He was so excited that when he left the Ministry after his first day of work, he thought of telling Penelope!

Percy's heart clenched in his chest, thinking about the riff they'd have last night. The last thing he'd want her to think was that he was gloating. He supposed that he'd just tell his other mates! He had… well, no, they were having a spiff too because that bastard called him a power-hungry moron! Well, he had—he had Hermes! _YES!_ His owl would be pleased with him, especially because he'd get him those new toasted coconut owl snacks.

When he got home, he fed his owl and chattered on about his promotion.

Percy fell asleep and didn't wake up until Fred and George called him for dinner. It didn't help that Hermes was pecking all over Percy's hair like he was trying to fish for flobberworms. Percy was so tired that he could barely get out of his bed without collapsing into a heap. He hadn't bothered changing out of his pinstriped trousers, beige shirt and suspenders when he'd returned home after being promoted to the _MINISTER'S JUNIOR ASSISTANT_. Wonderful. His clothes had more wrinkles on them than his Aunt Muriel and sleeping just made him more tired!

He practically bolted out of his bed when he remembered about his promotion!

He'd never been this excited before in his life. He'd been thinking about it—why did he have to feel so suspicious about the Minister's promotion? Percy had spent his whole life working his arse off! Surely, _HE_ deserved a promotion!

He'd been slumped against a desk _WITH_ splinters from the fact that there were times where he felt like he'd studied so much that he felt like he'd had a dungbomb go off in his brain. Reminding him of the stench of his imminent failure if he dared to think about going to sleep. There were times that he was sat at two in the morning in the Prefect bathroom, crying and shaking from his fear of his O.W.L's. Percy had _NEVER_ even been to Hogsmeade. Not once!

He'd wanted to go once just after his O.W.L's as a celebration, but he'd heard Penelope say that she'd never been, and she hadn't intended on wasting her time in one either… when she had N.E.W.T's to prepare for!

Everyone else always had something to look forward to. This was the first time in ages he did too.

At the Weasley dining room, Percy was excited to see that his mum had decided to make her roast beef for their Sunday roast—with all the trimmings too. Percy practically loaded his plate with roast beef, crackling, _THREE_ Yorkshire puddings, stuffing, roast potatoes, peas, carrots and cabbage. He felt nervous, but he tried to tell himself that he had nothing to be nervous about. How could his family not be pleased with his success?

 _You're still not Harry Potter!_ The cynical part of Percy said. He split one of the roast potatoes in half to give to Hermes.

Fred and George were chattering on about useless rubbish. "Ron didn't mean to do that to Charlie's old broom!"

"The thing was rubbish anyway!" Ron was scoffing his third roast potato. "It's old! What does he want a broomstick for anyway? It's not like he's going to use it to shoo the dragon away… _AND_ it's a fire hazard!"

"Charlie isn't going to think that when he comes home," Ginny was smirking, leaning against the counter. She'd loaded her plate with ninety percent crackling, roast beef, a toasted bread roll and mashed potatoes. "You're toast!"

"No, he's _ROAST!_ " Fred and George laughed, their roast potatoes flying everywhere.

Molly looked delighted. "Oh, Charlie's already written to you! Bill told me he'd be here next week!"

Fred and George looked at each other, knowingly. "That'll be—" Fred was cut off.

 _"I've got a promotion!"_ Percy always wanted to cut Fred off. He knew it was silly and childish, but he didn't care.

Ron snorted. "Let me guess? Promoted to cauldron tops instead of bottoms!"

His family went back to their roast dinners as if Percy didn't say anything at all.

"I'm junior assistant to the Minister for Magic!" Percy added on happily. "It's very impressive! Isn't it?"

But they didn't say anything. Charlie's second-hand broom being annihilated was a more important topic then?

Percy put his fork down because his hand started shaking again. He felt like he'd just been slapped in the face.

He blinked the hot tears that were burning into his eyes. _HOW_ could they not be pleased for him? They took everything from him! He wasn't allowed to be happy about anything he ever did. If he was, then there was something wrong with him. The blokes at St Mungo's were wrong. He wasn't depressed. This was just how he was meant to feel.

"Why… why aren't you pleased with me?" Percy said in a whisper.

Suddenly, he regretted everything he'd done in the past nineteen years that led to this moment.

 _Stupid!_ He should've spent his Hogwarts' years making unsuspected first years' cry because of his pranks. He should've pandered to the man that let a school live in terror when a deranged mass murderer was on the loose.

Arthur looked like he wanted to laugh. "Are you being daft, Percival?"

Percy's blood was boiling. _"PARDON ME?"_

"Don't talk to him like that!" Ron told him. What did his sweet baby brother care? He could go screw himself. Percy had never done anything to him, and he hated him about as much as he hated Death Eaters!

Arthur dropped the knife and fork he'd been holding to stare at him with shocked blue eyes. As if it was amazing that he had to explain to him _WHY_. "Isn't it obvious that Fudge only wanted to use you to spy on this family and-and Dumbledore's activities!" Arthur shook his head in disbelief. "That man is becoming more unhinged by the minute! I hope _you_ haven't even entertained his notions… Politics! Not in this household!"

 _Father, I've come home with a promotion,_ Percy was flabbergasted. _Terrible news! Isn't it?_

Spy on _THE FAMILY?_ Spy on _WHAT_ exactly? Find out the secret behind his mum's homemade beef lasagna? Find out how he'd bought a pair of socks three days ago and they'd already disappeared? Spy on the twins and make sure they weren't going to annihilate all of Devon tomorrow! Find out what Ron _really_ did to Charlie's broomstick? Even if there was something there for him to spy on, Arthur believed that he, straight-laced Percy, would _betray_ them?

Percy heard Hermes' screech. His owl was pleased for him. Even his owl knew that he wouldn't betray his family!

"He doesn't believe anything Harry's said either—about You-Know-Who being back!" Arthur continued in disdain. "That boy has gone through enough during the whole of the Triwizard Tournament without having the whole Ministry think that he's gone off his rocker! _WHAT IS WRONG WITH THAT OWL OF YOURS?"_

He didn't believe in Harry! So what if Fudge didn't believe in him! Percy felt like laughing. And Dumbledore!

Percy stood up, slamming his hands into the table. Molly nearly dropped her glass. "Percy, love, it's—"

 _"I DON'T BLOODY BELIEVE YOU!"_ Percy yelled. "I came into this bloody house with _GOOD NEWS_ and you've thrown it into my face _AGAIN_ because you-you choose to run with that senile vandal and his absolute favourite, that bloody crackpot _HARRY POTTER!_ I don't know why I bother! I've been struggling for ages against your awful reputation because you are an ambitionless fool and-and-and Merlin, I've owned the _SAME QUILL_ for five bloody years! You're only supposed to have them for a few months! How could you sit here, pleased with yourself when I'm nineteen years old and can't remember the last thing I've had a thing of my very own!"

Percy didn't even believe what he was saying. He didn't even believe half the rubbish that he said, but he just wanted to hurt his father by bringing up his precious job and Dumbledore _and-and dare he say anything about HARRY POTTER!_ He couldn't mention how much he betrayed _HE_ felt that his father believed he'd betray them! Why would he mention this to his lovely father when his wellbeing obviously didn't matter to him?

His family was staring at him, absolutely stunned at what he'd said. _NOW_ they listened to what he had to say!

"That sodding git doesn't know what he's talking about, Dad!" Ron looked enthralled. "Harry isn't a crackpot!"

"Don't you call your brother that!" Molly was shaking. His tremor seemed to be contagious. "Percy, honey, is this—"

Arthur stood up, his roast dinner only half-eaten. "What on Earth did Fudge tell you to have you believe all that rubbish? Do you need a new glasses prescription because you have to be bloody _BLIND_ not to see that there's a war brewing right in front of your very eyes? Did you have a drink with Rita bloody Skeeter? Because make _NO MISTAKE_ , you better be over the moon because Merlin has given you a roof over your head all these years and a family that loves and supports you, Percival! Most people don't have that luxury! _AND WHAT IS THIS TALK ABOUT-ABOUT AMBITION!?_ We'd be no step above the Slytherins!"

 _"ARTHUR! PERCY!"_ Molly shrieked, dropping a plate. She was in tears. " _BOTH OF YOU_ … _ENOUGH!"_

Percy was starting to get that gnawing chest pain in his chest. And he felt faint! Maybe Avery Smith ate his father because he couldn't believe the man standing in front of him was the same bloke that he looked up to!

"What's wrong, Percival?" Arthur asked regarding his sudden silence.

"I'm just sat here stunned that _I EVER BELIEVED A BLOODY WORD YOU SAID!"_ Percy yelled back at him. "I'm _SICK OF YOU!_ How dare you raise your voice on _ME_ because we've had a pitiful disagreement!"

"Me raise you voice on you? I'm _YOUR FATHER!_ And-and how _DARE_ you talk about Dumbledore and Harry like that after all they'd done for the sake of this society!" Arthur shot back. Percy couldn't believe that this row was unfolding right before his very eyes.

How his father looked at him with disgust because he couldn't stomach the fact that he refused to worship Dumbledore and Harry! His family that tortured him every day, belittling him and his accomplishments— _SO_ _SUPPORTIVE_ and _LOVING_ —up until he disagreed with them and then he was the lowest of the low!

Percy couldn't stand it. He stormed off before he did something foolish, and that delusional fool was still following him!

" _I HAVE NEVER BEEN THIS DISAPPOINTED IN YOU!"_ his father was one step behind him. Really? Percy thought he was plenty disappointed in the past nineteen years! "I'm ashamed to call you _MY SON!"_

"Well, I'd hate to give you that burden! But don't worry, you wouldn't have it for long!" Percy felt hot tears stinging into his eyes… threatening to fall but he wouldn't give his father the satisfaction of thinking that he'd gotten to him. Never! "I'm _LEAVING!"_

"That's the smartest thing you've said all night!" Arthur yelled venomously. " _GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"_

 _"ARTHUR!"_ Molly looked horrified as she ran outside to the living room.

"Well, good bloody riddance!" Fred and George called out from inside the kitchen. "We're sick of you too!"

"Bloody selfish git!"" agreed Ron.

" _AND_ you've upset, mum!" Ginny added on.

Percy wanted to scream. He ran upstairs, with Hermes following him. His owl stole the rest of his roast potatoes along with him to Percy's room. He couldn't believe this family! _NINETEEN_ years that he'd spent with them meant absolutely nothing. Percy felt like throwing himself off a cliff. As he was packing his things, he felt like his aching heart was about to beat out of his chest. He couldn't stop shaking. _He didn't know where he was supposed to go NOW!_ He tried to shove as many things as he could into his old rucksack least he'd not be allowed to come back again.

Percy threw his—Charlie's—tattered Gryffindor rucksack over his shoulder. He didn't even know what he'd packed!

 _"LEAVE THAT OWL HERE! YOU DON'T DESERVE IT!"_ he heard his father say. Hermes screeched in disapproval as Percy tied to put him back into his cage.


	3. Where's A Wand When You Need One?

_sorry for the long wait! i think the problem with this fanfiction is that i wrote Chapter 3, but i got stuck trying to even write the first few sentences of Chapter 4 (i don't post Chapter 3 if i did not write 4, because sometimes, i will decide to go a certain route in 4 that means that i have to change 3). fortunately, i'm pleased with how 4 is coming out, so i will post this one!_

 _i am so sad. i wanted to work somewhere around the fact that if i make Percy a muggle, this means half this fanfiction will be OC's! i tried to somehow get around that, so... hopefully, it will be okay. if i do add OC's, however, just know it is to highlight Percy, not to give them side-angst on the... side._

 _**comment replies** : _

_**lunaz** : it is a Percy POV. i think it makes it super biased. ch. 4 is a Ginny POV, but i am not very good at writing it. it isn't as natural to me as a Percy POV! but i really hope you enjoy the story and where it heads off to!_

 _ **Phoenixx Rising** : the Arthur/Percy row is always hard to write. i had to imagine it was almost Earth-shattering since it left them like this... but then again, Ron was narrating the fight to Harry, so i have no idea what he left out since obviously, he was trying to paint Percy in a bad light. ugh, for unreliable narrators. though Percy is a big one for me in my fanfictions. _

_**courgette96** : weirdly enough, it is the same for me writing it. on one hand, i realise how much of a downward spiral everything else, and on the other hand, all i can think of is 'how can i make this ten times more complicated?'. i love dysfunctional family dynamics. it'll probably unintentionally get worse. i feel the EXACT same way about Percy. i want to side with him, but i know that Arthur is not inherently evil either. oh, as for Audrey... i have a paragraph on how i want her to be like in a separate document, complete with a whole personality - and what i've written is nothing like that paragraph at all. i think this Audrey might have a little bite to her. ouch... but we will see once i have a chapter written. _

* * *

**Muggle Me**

Chapter Three: Where's A Wand When You Need One?

* * *

Seething, Percy put on a pair of grey robes and shoved his least ratty pair of werewolf brown plimsolls on his feet. He could hear Hermes angrily flittering about in his cage. _Go lay a bloody egg!_ Percy thought bitterly to himself.

He stomped downstairs, with a surly-looking Ron stood at the bottom of the stairs.

"Don't you _DARE_ , _you bloody BASTARD!"_ Ron grabbed Percy by the scruff of his robes and practically dragged him to the untidy living room—heaving books strewn about, Persian carpets misaligned and there were more tissues than he'd ever seen in one place since the dragonpox epidemic ages ago! "You're taking that off because it's _MINE!"_

Percy tried to wrangle out of his grasp. "Let go of me, you brute! And… and… _THESE ROBES ARE MINE!"_

"What is going on in here _NOW?"_ Molly just left the kitchen after having slaved over her beloved carrot cake. It was covered in a thick layer of cream cheese icing, and little walnuts crumbled to spell _I'M SORRY, PERCY_ on top.

The thick, chocolate-brown buttons of his favourite robes came undone and Percy fell straight into his mum's cake!

He watched his siblings burst into laughter. "Serves you right!" chided Ginny.

"Get it?" a laughing, red-faced George nudged Fred, who nudged him right back. "Because Percy just got _SERVED!"_

Percy was fuming. Ron snorted, noticing the tag on the robes. Percy stitched his name on all his clothes when he bought them, and Ron was staring an enormous _PROPERTY OF PERCY_ taped on the inside.

 _"ARTHUR!"_ Molly looked over at her husband, who looked stern-faced and quiet. "Control your children!"

Arthur pretended not to hear her. "Why are you still here?" his father's voice was icy. "Did you want a souvenir?"

Percy cleaned his face off with a charm—unfortunately, he couldn't do much about the humiliation that soaked his bones. How did he stand being ridiculed for so long? "You're joking! _THIS_ second-hand rubbish?!"

"You two are acting like children!" Molly moved over to Percy. _"ARTHUR, APOLOGISE TO YOUR SON!"_

"He is _NOT_ my son!" Arthur snappily said. Percy's anger disapparated faster than Draco Malfoy in front of a troll, and all he was left with was this burning, consuming ache inside his chest. _"NOW, GET OUT!"_

"Gladly!" Percy stormed out of the Burrow, ignoring his mum calling out his name afterwards.

As he stormed out of the Burrow (fitting! His father and siblings really were small, pesky rodents), he could still hear his parents fighting. The last thing he heard was his mother yelling at his father as she asked him, ' _WELL, WHERE IS HE GOING TO STAY NOW, ARTHUR?'_ and to which his father replied a very mature _'I don't care where he stays!_ '. His parents! Fighting! His parents barely fought. They got along like ham and cheese, banana and toffee… jam and cream!

At first, Percy thought of staying in a spare room in the Leaky Cauldron until he could find a flat. Of course, then he remembered that he was boycotting Diagon Alley because they shut down his most favourite bookstore, so they could open another Madam Primpernelle copycat store that sold acne cream that could double as extra-strong spello-tape.

He couldn't go to Penelope's flat, because he'd rather live in one of the twins' new portable swamp contraptions!

He couldn't think of anywhere else. Percy had not been sorted to Ravenclaw for multiple different reasons and one of them was his limited 'out of box' thinking abilities. Percy was firmly entrenched within the box at all times—least he'd break a rule! He still didn't know what to get Ron for his birthday besides another piece of Chudley Canons merchandise—though he supposed he wouldn't have to worry about that now! Percy's shoulders slumped in dejection. He still had a little carrot cake smeared on his face, which Hermes was happy enough to lap up.

 _HERMES?_ Percy nearly jumped out of his own skin seeing his owl hooting about him.

He was as loyal as a flobberworm was to … Dumbledore! Percy fumed, thinking of Arthur. _SPINELESS COWARD!_

"That's how all your owl snacks went missing!" Percy didn't know that Hermes knew how to open his cage. No wonder he could never lose those pesky quarter-kilo no matter how many diets Percy put him on! "Don't lick any frosting off me! I'm cross with you! You… loyal, hungry— _HUFFLEPUFF!"_ he didn't know how to insult his owl.

Then suddenly… he just happened to remember that muggleborn Oliver Wood had a flat in muggle London!

Somehow, a distraught Percy had concocted this _wonderful_ idea to make his way to muggle London by the Knight Bus even though he hadn't ever talked to Oliver Wood despite them sharing a dormitory together and…

The _MINOR_ fact that he didn't even know where Oliver Wood lived to begin with!

When he was sat in the Knight Bus, the conductor gawked at him like he'd suddenly exploded into a box of red feathers when he said that he wanted to go to muggle London. Percy was trying to tell himself that the conductor just had one too many firewhiskeys before his shift, and that he was going to write it into a detailed report tomorrow when he was finally the _JUNIOR ASSISTANT TO THE MINISTER FOR MAGIC_. Percy was not daft at all to be going into London with no plans whatsoever! He supposed he could have a look at it at least… for curiosity's sake. And the worst that could happen, really, was that he was stuck in muggle London at eleven at night, not sure where to go!

 _You're unravelling so fast it's painful to watch_ , Percy's sane side told him when he got off the Knight Bus in a place that didn't look like the brochure his father snatched of muggle London. _LOOK at you! You're pathetic!_

Percy still thought to his way to muggle London, where he watched people gawk at him as he stood there in his grey robes. All he could smell was a cloudy depression from the last two days of torturous rain, the grease from the local chippy and Hermes' damp, spotted arse! His owl was acting more like Errol by the day! One would think that Percy was about to be attacked by a bunch of roaring Death Eaters in the middle of a public muggle street! Percy rolled his eyes, as he looked at a muggle push around—what was that _contraption_ that she was pushing her poor, crying baby in? Percy had last seen something like that in _The Daily Prophet_ in an illegal sex shop in Puerto Rico! Even the name of it— _CRAM!_ Like Avery Smith was threatening to cram him with his own stolen milk chocolate digestives!

Percy slammed himself into a pole that was just… _standing there!_ Who put it there? The muggle government?

He rummaged through the pocket of his rucksack and produced a cigarette, which he lit with his cheap lighter. He took a deep inhale. It didn't make him feel any better. It just reminded him that he probably should be spending his knuts on something that wasn't going to fill his lungs with more smoke than a Death Eater's box of tricks.

He'd read awful things about smoking—like how it destroyed your life, your lungs and your heart.

Unfortunately, Percy didn't care about either of those things. All he really cared about was that people didn't know that he was the one that triggered the Ministry fire alarm by trying to snag a smoke in the lavatories, as the whole Ministry was a smoking-free zone… but Percy was stressed that day. The Ballycastle Bats lost their biggest match!

He also read that smoking effected his libido. But, well, his hand hadn't been disappointed thus far!

But what Percy did _NOT_ know was that smoking apparently led to you being smacked over the head and captured by four Death Eaters. Wait! _Death Eaters?_ What were Death Eaters doing in muggle— _WAIT, DEATH EATERS?_

That meant that _Harry Potter_ —and his father! He just…—and what he just said! And…

Why was he kidnapped by _FOUR_ Death Eaters from a busy muggle London street? Had they been following him? Had they been there before? Percy supposed they didn't want to congratulate him for his promotion. He supposed they wanted to slice him into prosciutto because of his flaming red hair, second-hand robes and pale, freckled arse.

Percy's head was spinning, as he heard his owl screeching in the distance. _This_ was what Hermes was batty about!

He was just going out for a nice walk in muggle London, which he wasn't entirely sure how he'd gotten to in the first place. He cursed himself for every single decision he'd made in the last forty-eight hours… and if possible, he'd revoke all the experiences that he'd had in the last dull nineteen years of his life! He couldn't believe just five hours ago, he was chattering happily to Hermes about his promotion. He was over the moon after realising he was going to be scoffing his mum's homemade Yorkshire puddings that night after barely eating for weeks.

Percy's robes were lying on the ground, his _PROPERTY OF PERCY_ tag gleaming in the streetlight.

 _"THAT IS NOT ARTHUR WEASLEY!"_ the voice Percy heard sent a shiver down Percy's spine. _"FOOLS!"_

Percy was insulted. He did not look like his father at all. Firstly, he actually _had_ hair and—

"He's a Ministry official. Fudge hired him yesterday as his own junior assistant!" a young-sounding Death Eaters said. Percy wondered _WHY_ on Earth he was invisible for most of his life and suddenly, these Death Eaters happened to know exactly what he did for a living! "We can't just leave him here! He-he knows everything!"

All Percy could think about was the stark realisation that he'd been wrong all along! That-that Harry was right! Percy's heart was threatening to beat out of his chest. One minute, he was about to be rammed into by a pole and the second minute, he was in a dark alleyway, away from the busy London street that he was just walking through. He was surrounded by masked figures staring at him like his family did a Chinese buffet after a three-hour shopping trip.

 _Focus, Percival if you want to live!_ He tried to motivate himself to stay alive. Apparently, the prospect of nearly dying didn't do the trick, especially given he'd realised that he was _WRONG!_ How shocking!

 _You have a pair of robes you have to pick up from Madam Malkin's this Monday._ Percy tried to encourage himself. _You have a high-powered job that… you now discovered is probably a sham. Your father is doing something with Dumbledore that Fudge felt like required spying—too bad the Minister asked the stupidest Weasley to do it because you didn't even know that there was something to spy on in the first place! And WHO is going to feed Hermes if you die tonight?!_

Percy tried to look for his wand in his robes. He could do this. He had gotten an O in Defence Against the Dark Arts!

"He doesn't know anything!" another one argued. "Well, he doesn't… if he wants to stay in one piece."

His heart sank into his chest. His head was pounding—and he felt extremely faint. When Ron had been tugging at his robes that night, he must've dropped his wand! _INSIDE THE BURROW!_

Percy's freckly hands were unsteady. Well, that was convenient! What was he going to do _NOW?_ Bore them to death?

He noticed that a small plastic baggy fell from his bag, which was filled with all his _LEAKING_ hygiene products. He tried to stuff so many hygiene products in the front of his Gryffindor bag that night that they must've fallen out with all this shoving, pointing and Death Eater-ing! Percy groaned. Why couldn't have something deadly fallen out? Like one of the twins' underpants? Percy was sure that he shrank and packed half the Burrow with him in his rucksack!

Percy looked down at his hand, still holding his cigarette—which had burned a hole in his sleeve.

 _"SHUT UP!"_ a Death Eater pulled out her wand. Hyperventilating, Percy inched backwards but he only slammed himself into a wall. His hands were clammy, and he was nauseous. " _FLINT!_ Make sure that your little mate here has a little trouble remembering this encounter! If I hear about this weasel being a problem, I know who's botched up!"

Flint? Percy's head was spinning. Marcus Flint? Marcus Flint was performing a spell on him? No, he was performing a _MEMORY CHARM_ on him? The bloke that failed his last year of Hogwarts and had to repeat because of his stupidity? Memory charms took _SKILL_ and were best performed by someone that knew how to open doors without punching through the lock! If Flint touched him, Percy knew he'd be lucky if he was still toilet trained after!

Flint inched towards him, holding out his wand. Percy came to notice others' tremors. Flint had to be a new recruit.

 _So, what?_ A part of Percy asked sardonically. _I'm sure this means he's eager to please! Because YOU WERE!_

He was cornered. There were four Death Eaters surrounding him, and he was sat on the ground between three piles of rubbish. Percy had his rucksack straddled on, which was probably breaking apart at the seams as he spoke because all this useless rubbish just kept spilling out of it. What did he pack a glow-in-the-dark Puffskein toy with him for?! What was he supposed to _do_ with it exactly? Illuminate the Death Eaters with its gaudy pink colour?

 _"OLIVIATE!"_ Flint yelled, pointing an unsteady wand towards Percy's ashen face.

Just the situation dawned on him, Percy screamed " _NO!"_ and flicked his still-lit cigarette towards his leaking bag.


	4. Meanwhile, in The Burrow…

_you are going to hate this. this chapter is just the row from Ginny's POV, so i left you off at a tough spot... and continue to do so. the next chapter is in Marcus Flint's POV since writing one in Percy's is almost impossible with the whole... memory loss thing._

 _ **comment replies** :_

 _ **Heart** : unfortunately, this update doesn't resolve much from the last chapter!_

 _ **closetkpopfan** : oh, thank you. i think it's because i relate to him so much it's so easy to make him into something real and tangible! i hope you enjoy the rest of this fanfiction :)_

 _ **lunaz** : i think poor Perce knew he was a goner when he realised it was Flint! 'a memory charm takes a high level of skill'!_

 _ **Phoenixx Rising:** oh my God, when you pointed that out about needing a wand for the Knight Bus, i had a minor existential crisis where i'm like: oh wow, yes. suddenly, i've been trying to think of a way to remedy that besides that it just slipped my mind! _

_**courgette96** : i loved reading this comment. i laughed so much. "on the off chance that..." brilliant! i know, the most self-indulgent me wants that too. i'm afraid i've made it extremely messy as you'll see by the next chapter. i think you'd be annoyed at me. it's like i'm sat there by my laptop, wondering how i could make the situation ten times worse than it already is! i love how you summed it up. "it's even better how... pointless the whole encounter was." i know! _

* * *

**Muggle Me**

Chapter Four: Meanwhile, in The Burrow…

* * *

"Blimey," Ron was staring at Percy's room, his eyes looking almost Cornish pixie blue in the dim lighting.

Percy had obviously not been enlightened about the fact that he was the world's biggest git. Because before he left, he seemed to have managed to break _FIVE_ Ravenclaw-coloured lamps without alerting the rest of the Burrow.

Percy's room was usually more sterile than Snape's unopened potion phials. His vigorous toilet cleaning made most hospital rooms look like pig pens. His Prefect and Headboy badges often gleamed brighter than fake stickers in Ginny's star charts. Percy's clothes used to so neat and tidy they looked like they belonged in an ad—well, for second-hand robes. Ginny could remember clearly that one time that she went to eat an apple without removing the skin and Percy told her off for nearly eating a _pesticide-ridden accretion of fructose_. Ron used to wonder why pesticides and insects bothered Percy so much since he was basically an oversized flobberworm with red hair.

Now, his room could suck the soul out of a Dementor!

"What happened _HERE?"_ Ron asked. Ginny wondered what that _thing_ under the table was. She'd need to flip through Ron's copy of _The Monster Book of Monsters_ to figure it out. "Fred and George had years of fermenting their underpants to reach this state of toxicity! And those two don't spend time trying to colour-code their _feelings_ like that bloody—!"

"Percy doesn't have any feelings," Ginny picked up one of the socks on the ground. More holes than Pansy Parkinson!

"Hey," George crossed his arms over his chest. Meanwhile, Fred was staring at the ceiling that was spewing soupy pale blue paint. It went with the nasogastric tube that Percy would have to get shoved up his fat, freckled nose for turning their family into _Witch Weekly_ material. "Arrogance, malcontent, cowardice and narcissism are _feelings_ , Gin."

"I'll give him an A for an acceptable effort, but _this_ is almost juvenile," Fred couldn't believe the ceiling was still intact.

Book shelves toppled over each other and meshed into something they could stick into the Herbology greenhouse.

"Juvenile?" Ron reiterated, jerking his finger to the cupboard. "That cupboard was on the other side of the room!"

With an accidental jerk of Ron's wand, the contents of that cupboard spilled faster than a potion in Neville Longbottom's cauldron. Fred did say that it was _almost juvenile_ , but there was the little fact that he also looked paler than Nearly Headless Nick that convinced Ginny he was full of dragon shit.

 _"WHAT HAPPENED HERE?"_ Molly's voice was shrill. In her arms were Percy's giant baby blue duvet.

"Mum, it wasn't us!" Fred and George immediately called in unison. "Percy did this!"

 _"Percy did this?"_ Molly's voice softened. She put the duvet aside, staring at the wall with shiny amber eyes. "Oh."

Percy could use the Weasley family clock to make half-off wands to sell and Molly would be alright with it. Meanwhile, if Ginny had a sickle for every Howler their mum sent her, she'd be able to buy a Firebolt.

"Well…! When you two were fighting over robes, you made him drop his wand!" Molly said. With shaky hands, she pulled out Percy's wand from her pocket. She looked like she aged in the span of a few hours. "I hope you're happy!"

"Ecstatic," Ron said. "Now, the git might return for the wand that our ambitionless, skint dad paid for."

Molly's eyes hardened. "How many times did I tell you not to call your brother that?"

"He's not _my_ brother," Ron replied. "How could you let him say those things about Dad?"

Molly walked into Percy's room, looking dejected. She picked up a photo from the floor. It was the time they went to Egypt. Ginny bet that Fred and George wished they'd kept him locked in the pyramid now. Or preferably, a tomb.

" _I_ don't control either your father or _your brother_ ," Molly replied. "This is going to take weeks to clean!"

Ginny was fuming. This was unbelievable! Prissy Pitiful Percy wasn't even considerate enough to keep their mum, who sided with _HIM_ , from spending weeks trying to clean up the muck he managed to make in all the fifteen minutes.

Arthur was now stood by the door, looking more crestfallen than Ginny had ever seen him. It broke her heart.

There was once a time where Percy's rosewood desk did not look like a Whomping Willow had attacked it and his lavender purple carpet was once _not_ greasier than Snape's hair. Now, his room looked like an Antipodean Opaleye just came in, looked at the state of it, and then decided to disapparate before it got dragonpox.

Arthur cleared his throat. "I'll give him his wand tomorrow… I'll-I'll go see him over at Fudge's office."

Ginny wondered if Percy would have time to see his father. He was so busy! Tending to the Minister for Magic!

"This fight is ridiculous," Molly crossed her arms over her chest. Her frizzy copper curls laid flat and lifeless looking on her head. Ginny never noticed how short her mum was until then. It made her suddenly looked vulnerable. A broom came whizzing into the room, along with all of Molly's cleaning equipment with a quick flick of her wand. "I can't believe that you two are acting like children about this!"

"He sided with Fudge!" Ron tried to tell his mum. "Over _HARRY!_ After all… all that Harry's done for us!"

Ginny felt a stab in her chest. She couldn't believe that Percy said any of that!

"He called Dad an _ambitionless fool_ ," Ginny told Molly, as if she was deaf and needed one of Fred and George's new Extendable Ears, which they concocted in a lavatory at four in the morning yesterday... after a few minor explosions!

"I know what he said," Molly replied stiffly.

Ginny was in disbelief over the events of the night. Even sat in her bedroom, she tried to waste time by reading one of Molly's old, cliché _Witch Weekly_ magazines to ignore the thoughts swimming in her head.

That night, she tried to go to sleep but it was hard thinking about what happened. Percy called Harry a crackpot!

It was like Harry didn't have the whole wizarding world trying to make a fool out of him or insisting that he should be left for dead in St Mungo's asylum. Like he didn't have to deal with Cedric's unfortunate death on top of You-Know-Who's yearly threats. It wasn't like poor Harry hadn't lost most of his childhood! In his first year, he had to deal with the mountain troll. Just last year, Harry found out he had a godfather he knew nothing about, but he couldn't be with because he was wanted by the Ministry that Percy loved more than life itself! Like Harry wasn't currently sat in Privet Drive, where Ron and herself had to send him _FOOD_ to sustain him over the summer holidays whilst Percy moaned about his promotion and _oh woe is me I have twelve O.W.L's but nobody bothers with me_.

And what he said about their father! Ginny tossed to her side, blood boiling. The disrespectful, wilted horklump!

Arthur almost passed out in half his dinners because of how bone-weary he was from the working overtime at the that he was obviously incompetent at. He once spent Christmas slaving away in the Ministry until two or three in the morning to pay for Bill's hospital bills because he wanted him to have the best care possible. And Percy just… _UGH!_

She wanted to scream, sob… or break something with George's new Beater bat.

Getting up from her bed, Ginny walked downstairs to get herself a glass of water. It was three in the morning.

Her heart sank into her chest to see Arthur sat in the dimly lit living room, wearing his baggy bright green pyjamas. Arthur was transfixed by Percy's wand, and had a sombre expression on his face. The ghoul probably looked livelier.

"Dad?" Ginny just notice Percy's pale-blue duvet sprawled onto the couch, looking as pristine and pretentious as ever. "What are you doing here? Did mum kick you out of the room? Is… she cross with you about- _about Percy?"_

Arthur placed Percy's wand down on the coffee table and tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes. It didn't work. He looked more exhausted than a Ravenclaws taking their O.W.L's after cramming the last set of notes into the brains.

Ginny wondered if she should get him a cup of coffee… or a pint of firewhiskey.

"Your mother wasn't particularly happy with me," Arthur replied. "But I can't say I'm pleased with myself either."

Ginny stiffened up. Percy had what was coming to him. Oh, and he _still_ deserved a Bludger to the face.

"You know, I don't agree with mum says and neither do Fred, George and Ron. She's always made excuses for him," Ginny toyed with the sleeve of her already threadbare yellow Quidditch shirt she bought with Hermione just last week. Arthur looked about ready to slip into something comfortable… like a coma. "About Percy being—"

"You should go to sleep," Arthur cut her off. His blue eyes hardened, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

Ginny slowly nodded her head. She passed by Percy's empty room, and then felt her anger dissipating by the second.

She wanted to stay angry at that twat for what he said, especially seeing Arthur sat on the couch because of the row her parents had about him! If Percy just kept his gob shut, they'd be alright now! She never even noticed when he was at home most of the time but passing by his empty room made her feel a wretchedness she didn't expect. Because suddenly, all she could think about was that time that she walked downstairs this late at night and saw thirteen-year-old Percy perched by the table in the kitchen, studying for his O.W.L's in his summer holiday. He barely slept and ate from worry, his eyes red-rimmed from an exam he wasn't meant to take for _two years_.

That was Percy, stripped of everything. A _coward_. Afraid of two bits of parchment paper.

Lying there in a pool of her own sweat from her broken magical fan, Ginny tried to psych herself up by reminding herself than in a few days, the family was going to get Harry from Privet Drive. So, why did she still feel so sad?


	5. Death Eaters, Coffee, and Quills! Oh My!

**_comment replies:_**

 ** _Phoenixx Rising:_** _i laughed so much reading that comment. i feel like it's been happening more often than none! it's like... 'let me make sure the grammar and the way that it's written is alright. oh, and i forgot the content but that's fine.'_

 _ **Heart** : yes, Marcus Flint and Percy were in the same year but he got held back. now, you're making me wonder what i should do with the Weasely family clock... if anything!_

 _ **lazy123** : i have to say i laughed when i saw both your comments (on this one and the Minister Arthur one) cause i was thinking about them both for three hours one day... and another two hours. i woke up in bed thinking about it. i felt like i was in an exam and someone is questioning exactly what i've been doing with my life (not in a bad way! i hope it doesn't come off like that.) my Marcus POV just sort of spins off from where Percy left him off. but yes, they followed him from the Burrow. as for the mistaking him, i don't know if this is going to sound horrible, but i just assumed that to them, they're just like 'oh, a Weasley'. and they probably just think Arthur's the thin, tall one with glasses. i know that's a horrible thing to say, but hey, it is dark and he's wearing black robes! now, i realise it's even more absurd because the Death Eater i chose to lead was Alecto Carrow. and this is particularly bad because she USED TO TEACH PERCY so if there's anyone that shouldn't be mixing them up, it's her... but i also write her as very unhinged. so i'm still leaning against possible stupidity as an answer (more on my own than the characters' unfortunately). it looks like i need you to edit my content before i sent it so i'm not stumped asking questions like this. but i do have the answer for the Imperius question... which is that i don't think they need to do that since they're already starting to infiltrate the Ministry and it wasn't their orders to put him under the Imperius curse. it was their order to attack Arthur for information, and they failed that so now they're trying to pretend like they weren't 'there' and that they didn't disturb what Lord Voldemort is doing in the Ministry. because i was always under the impression that they work based on orders and it's very regimented. honestly, i updated this chapter quickly (even though i'm tired, i'm not 100% on the editing for this one) just to answer this because you left that much of an impression on me. made me question my existence since you posted your comments. i wish i could update the other one too just to answer your question, but that one's giving me even more of a headache than this one! _

_**courgette96** : regret down the line is the only reason i write these chapters... do you know long it took me to try and write an argument in Ginny's head to validate Harry, and discredit Percy? my head is like 'i can't discredit Percy. are you mad?' Percy yes, he tends to be like 'oh woe is me, i am the biggest victim ever.' i love it because it's so easy to write and gratifying too! meanwhile, writing Ginny's arguments took me ages! it looks like a filler chapter, but i felt like i was composing a Mozart symphony during the time i was writing it. Marcus is another big favourite, so i love writing him! i'm not sure why either so hopefully, this chapter is alright... _

_**Son of Whitebeard:** i'm so mean to him. he's just sat there on the couch, being like... 'yeah, she kicked me out.' and he's cute in his little pyjamas. i love him (you can't tell with my fanfictions but i do)._

* * *

 **Muggle Me**

Chapter Five: Death Eaters, Coffee, and Quills! Oh My!

* * *

Marcus Flint could see flying Oliver Woods dancing in front of his cloudy grey eyes. Great. He was about to die, and the last thing he saw was his mortal nemesis fulfilling his dreams whilst he was stuck in a fiery pit of doom. Literally.

 _"FLINT!"_ he was so sick of hearing his name he felt like bashing that Carrow bitch in the face _with a flint._

Marcus was too busy coughing up fumes to tell her to shut up. This wasn't at all like the first time he smoked gillyweed.

 _That's Arthur Weasley. Let's attack Arthur Weasley in a busy muggle London street_ , she said.

 _It's fine. We can just take him into a tight space filled with flammable rubbish bags_ , she said.

"The last time I let a troll do a wizard's job!" Carrow was coughing too, but she managed to draw her wand out of her robes—only to drop it into the fire because of how much her hands were shaking.

Marcus would've pissed himself from laughter if he wasn't slightly delirious from the carbon monoxide poisoning.

"You have disappointed me for the last time!" Carrow said. He heard Daphne say that the third time he shagged her.

He knew what was going to happen, even though he failed Divination twice: the fire would alert the muggles. The muggles would intervene. The Obliviator team would show up. That withered, delusional Inferi—pardon him, _The Dark Lord_ —would probably be pissed that they manage to disappoint him again. Marcus would probably end up being tortured—third time this week! Oh, and this morning, his thirteen-year-old sister, Marcella, punched him in the face and chipped his tooth in the process because he accidentally drank her coffee instead of his.

Pucey managed to extinguish the fire with. Altogether, they couldn't even scare a Kneazle, much less the Weasley!

"The Dark Lord will hear about your—…" Carrow was starting to talk to him, but Marcus had a headache and he didn't want to waste any of his precious, few brain cells listening to that bitch moan again. Unfortunately—or fortunately, muggles started rallying around the alleyway. "We have to leave! _NOW!"_

Pucey and Warrington helped pick up the unconscious Weasley before they apparated away.

Hiding behind the bushes outside of Diagon Alley, they took off their Death Eater robes.

"I will _not_ be responsible for your foolishness!" Carrow took off her mask. She looked better with it on. Her spotted, scaly skin made Nagini look like a sponsor for Madam Primpernelle's _Soft, Smooth and Spell-Binding Skin_ campaign.

Marcus wondered what _MORON_ would apparate a six-foot-two unconscious Weasley to always-busy Diagon Alley?

Carrow stuffed the Death Eater robes and masks into Percy Weasley's bag, which looked like it was about to leak.

 _"Rennervate!"_ she pointed her wand towards Percy, who began to stir.

Pucey, Warrington and himself walked out of the alleyway, and walked to a stall that sold Time Turner necklaces, little broomstick earrings, and combs from the tears of trolls that failed to procure a singular O.W.L. Out of the corner of his tired grey eye, Marcus noticed Percy sloppily stumbling out of the alleyway.

Carrow walked over to Percy. His cornflower blue eyes glazed over—like he'd just smoked gillyweed.

"Oh, I'm sorry to startle you! Did you have a drink? I did think I saw you stumbling from a pub. Celebrating your success I suppose! Do you remember me? I used to teach Muggle Studies back at Hogwarts. And what a gifted student you were!" Carrow's voice was waxy, fake and overly sweet—like the hot, white orgasm that Daphne Greengrass faked. "I had to go to the Ministry yesterday to sort out a problem I've had with the Department of Magical Transportation and I heard the good news. I _just had_ to congratulate you on your promotion!"

Marcus _just had_ to gag himself with a Firebolt. She must be a glumbumble in another life because she depressed him.

And 'I saw you stumbling from a pub'? Merlin, for a teacher's degree, you'd think she'd be more creative than that!

"Thank you about my promotion to… something important or rather," Percy looked thoroughly disgusted. "Madam, I'm sorry to be rude but… your skin ailment! Is it _contagious?_ Because I think you just touched me!"

Marcus was going to buy a Pensieve just to relive that moment Perfect Prefect Percy said _that_ to Alecto Carrow.

"Pardon me? What did you say to me, Freckle Face?" Carrow asked, but Percy left her, mumbling angrily to himself.

He was now stood outside Amanuensis Quills, gawking like it was the first time he saw a quill in his life!

"What is _this wizardry?"_ Percy said, his freckled hands clutched into fists. "I suppose it's not enough to hunt, roast, scoff, and stuff birds and bathe them in their own mealy juices every Sunday, but _NOW_ , we have resorted to bird feather plucking for our own twittering— _pardon me_ —indulgences! Now, _PRAY TELL_ , how is the bird supposed to warm itself in this…—well, forget about that. It's roasting out here!" this pun was not intended. " _HOW_ is a bird supposed to attract its mate without any of its plumage? If _I_ was a bird, I wouldn't want the twat that lost his plumule… especially if he's probably dead because you stuffed him with cranberries and celery, you… _chicken!"_

Percy angrily waved his fist into the air. "I hope your children get bird feather asthma, sir!"

Marcus groaned to himself and walked up to the weasel, who looked teary. Maybe he'd be happy if he lost his promotion and ended up scoring a spot in The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

"I am starting a union against Amanuensis Quills for selling… _quills_ ," Percy said the last word like it was an insult. "People should be warned that they use… _quills_." Because having quills in the shop name wasn't enough warning.

"Oi," Pucey looked over at Weasley. "You've never seen a quill before?"

"I have," Percy said humourlessly. "Usually on a bird. Intact. And not being sold for half-price… exclusively today!"

Marcus did not know how Percy had never met a bird that snipped his hair off faster than his sister chipped his tooth off. Maybe birds didn't like trolls. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that trolls beat anything with feathers to eat for supper. When he saw Percy with his Fwooper's nest hair, waking everyone up at five in the morning for a due inspection because their Slytherin prefect was a lazy arse—he often wondered if he could beat him to eat, but what was the point when a plump fat bird gave more nourishment than a six-foot-two assortment of skin and bones?

"Percy," the ex-Prefect look distressed when Warrington call him that. Apparently, Percy—when did he become _Percy?_ He was Weasley a few hours ago—was afraid of his first given name. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"What do you mean what's the last thing I remember?" Percy asked. "Is that my name?"

"Yes, it is," Marcus realised he _really_ mucked up with his memory charm. "How many O.W.L's do you have?"

"After what Amanuensis Quills did to these birds, I suppose none!" Percy replied. Marcus only touched his memory a little and now, it was a case of that muggle book that his mum read to him. _Once Flew Over the Cuckoo's bloody_ —oh.

Percy looked down at his clothes like he just noticed the rags that he was walking in. "What is this heaving monstrosity that I am wearing?" he took off his robes, so that he was only in his baggy beige shirt, and even baggier pinstriped trousers, hooked to his frame only by his suspenders. He noticed the _PROPERTY OF PERCY_ stitched in. He looked at Marcus with the look of a Chaser that just realised he was going to be knocked off his broom. "And this-this ponderous, grotty blanket with sleeves is _mine?_ Where… where is my house?"

"You don't have one," Pucey cut in before Marcus opened his big mouth and told him he lived in a forest and was very good friends with a Whomping Willow. He liked to kiss werewolves at night. "We're here to escort you away."

"For voicing my opinions _against bird feather plucking?"_ Percy didn't know that nobody gave a rat's arse about his opinions. Even without any memory at all, the big-headed git thought that his opinion was important enough to be plucked off Diagon Alley. "I don't understand. Is there anyone that is looking for me? I can't remember who I am."

Percy noticed Gilderoy Lockhart's books being sold on a stall beside him and almost broke down when he noticed _Who Am I?_ being sold. He grabbed the book and with shaky hands nearly jumped up when he noticed the picture of Gilderoy Lockhart moving. "This book is _ALIVE!"_ he yelled loud enough for others to be staring at him.

As Marcus tore him away from the scene, he noticed a shiny wetness to his eyes.

"At least he remembers enough to write his own name and-and a _BOOK!"_ Percy said, hugging his second-hand robes to his chest. "I can't write a book about all the things I do not know… all I would ever be is a blank page!"

 _"SHUT UP!"_ Pucey was starting to get sick of him, and Percy was pathetically sobbing.

"Nobody likes you," Marcus said a little coldly, and noticed Percy stuffing his robes into his rucksack.

"That is unfair!" Percy's rucksack exploded. Its contents were spilling out. "There must be someone looking for me!"

When the Death Eater robes and masks fell from Percy's rucksack, some of the busy Diagon Alley shoppers stopped into their tracks and started screaming. One of them fainted. _"DEATH EATERS!"_ they yelled.

 _That fool!_ He stared at Percy with disdain. Marcus did not want to see how Azkaban would look like from the inside.

"Death Eaters?" Percy looked at them quizzically. " _I've_ never had death for breakfast before. Though I—"

Pucey tried to push Percy backwards, and Marcus could see that five-stone, five-foot bitch Carrow from the other side of the street, calling out, "I need immediate help from an Auror! There are _DEATH EATERS_ here!"

Before Marcus could think about it, he grabbed Percy's hand. Pucey and Warrington grabbed Marcus' arm—a little too roughly! Hey, they wanted to swap saliva with him, the least they could do was buy him a drink before. Without a second thought, Marcus apparated them away to _a forest in the middle of nowhere!_ Bollocks. Now, tomorrow, _The Daily Prophet_ would be swarming with news of how he, Pucey, Warrington and Weasley were Death Eaters.

Pucey was panting heavily. "That… that…" his voice was soft. Then he attacked Percy, screaming at him.

 _"YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!"_ Adrian grabbed fistfuls of curly red hair into his hands and began tugging it. "I'm discredited! I'm condemned to a life of-of-of… second-hand robes! I can't walk into Madam Primpernelle's for my special hair treatment ever again… I am _RUINED!_ I have been _SHAMED!_ I… I can't show my face anywhere again and it's all because of _YOU!"_ he slammed his fist into Percy's cheek, over and over until Percy was coughing blood.

Percy sneezed, blood trailing down his throat. "You are a very violent woman," he said under his breath.

 _"SHUT UP!"_ Cassius hissed, looking a lot less like a Death Eater and more like a Slytherin boy that didn't know how to do his Potions exams... but he did know that his father would skin him if he had to repeat the year. _"STOP… IT!"_

Adrian collapsed on top of Percy, sobbing hysterically. He was pathetic. "My life is _ruined_ ," Adrian cried out.

"Join the bloody club," Marcus hissed, his hands into fists. "Now, get up off the ground and show some dignity."

Percy was so surprised that Adrian started crying that he didn't complain about the pain that he must be feeling. Cassius pulled him up. He was covered in murky mud water.

"What is a Death Eater?" Percy asked, and Marcus just pushed him back into the mud.

When Marcus was five, he once went downstairs to eat some of the ginger newts that his mum kept for Father Christmas every year. The man was like a solid black shadow, and he had bought friends. His friends were not reindeers. He saw a black shadow and ate ginger newts with him. Marcus asked him why Father Christmas was all in black and why he didn't see anything being put into his Christmas stocking. He said he was going to bring his mum down to tell he that he met Father Christmas, but then the man in black robes wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tightly. Marcus screamed _"LET GO OF ME!",_ and he heard his mother violently yelling. She was saying something about how she did not know about her husband's rebellion from The Dark Lord. Marcus didn't know why his mother had said that then, because his mum did not go to church.

 _"Shut up,"_ Marcus hissed at him, not sure what he was going to do with a once-gifted wizard that now knew less magic than a three-month-old infant. Maybe he could get him his first training wand!

"We can go to my home," Percy suddenly said, looking energetic. "I suppose that—"

"You don't have a bloody home," Marcus snapped back, watching Percy's face drain. Like he'd let that redhead go back to his family and get them all killed in the process. Like he'd let him go to the Ministry and put his sisters' lives in danger because he couldn't keep his fat mouth shut with his big, fat head. "Do you understand? You are homeless. You have nothing. You are _NOBODY!_ _DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME NOW_ or do you want me to spell it for you? With my _QUILL?"_ Marcus grabbed his quill out of his pocket. He had no ink and it was old, so he threw his quill as far as he could. "Yes, I use _A QUILL!_ I'd happily skin any bird with my own hands to get a quill!"

Marcus was breathing heavily. "I hate birds! Especially women! _Especially Daphne bloody Greengrass!"_

Percy was very quiet. Adrian and Cassius watched Marcus breathe heavily. _It was all their fault!_ Marcus thought. _Their fault! They were the ones that_ … Marcus shouldn't have become a Death Eater! He shouldn't have been carrying around quills when he was dumber than the bird they got it from! He shouldn't have drunken Marcella's coffee!

He thought of throwing himself in the water. But Ophelia was not a deplorable five-foot-six unlovable troll. And he wouldn't float because he had the bone density of a rock.

 _Why couldn't they just leave the mudbloods alone?_ Marcus thought. _Why did they have to kill and torture them?_

"We're going to muggle London," Marcus decided. They could hide there forever, and nobody would ever find them. He would smuggle his eleven sisters into his mother's house, where they could… hate him for being a Death Eater. Whatever. At least he didn't smoke gillyweed anymore—well, not much anyway!

 _"M…m-mug…?"_ Adrian stuttered, and then heroically fainted in a pile of dirty grass.


	6. I Was Homeless For A Few Hours

_alright. this is a Percy POV. i don't know how much of actual Percy to retain and how much of him should end up being written off. i'm still battling in my head how i'm going to have them assess Percy's mind. obviously, this chapter doesn't answer too much because it's a Percy POV and he doesn't remember anything._

 _ **comment replies:**_

 _ **courgette96:** i love how you zero in on the obvious angst that's going to come afterwards with the family hearing the Percy is a DE. _

_**Matthew W. Kirkland:** thank you. this makes me so glad to hear that you're enjoying it!_

 _ **lazy123** : oh no! not criticising me at all. it's just it was very hard for me to try and explain what i thought, and i felt a little bad i didn't set the scene clearly because it was very obvious into my head. :) it makes me wonder what else doesn't appear as obvious. i think my writing style can leave a litte ambiguity at times because it's very hard for me to write out simple concepts. and i don't like to just outright say it. i unfortunately always imagine both Daphne and Pansy as a little promiscuous, young and believe that they know what they want, and i never bother calculating the age differences with Marcus because i never assume this kind of thing bothered him... and i think that Marcus weirdly believes that he has the upper hand in most of his relationships, but i think it's usually the opposite._

 _ **Phoenixx Rising** : poor Adrian indeed. but poor Percy most of all. stuck in another fic with me._

 _ **Guest** : i love writing Percy abused stories. i wanted to write him being abused by Penelope, yes! i never thought that anyone remembered it. mostly because it won't be like most other abuse stories i read because i wanted to develop Penelope's storyline as an abuser which i have yet to see a single fanfiction do in my life. and i've never read a fanfiction where a male character is abused by a female character. the other option i have in my poll, the one with Molly letting Percy being taken care of by her siblings, actually is an abuse story too, but i don't know if i can develop the siblings' personality a lot in that one as i could with a Penelope/Percy story since their dynamic would be more imposing and 'natural' to write. _

_**Heart** : i died laughing at "excuse you, Mr Eater?" kill me. of course, i had to add the angst of them thinking that Percy could possibly be a Death Eater. _

* * *

**Muggle Me**

Chapter Six: I Was Homeless For A Few Hours

* * *

After spending a day driving around in _busses_ powered by _engines_ , Percy was getting restless. Marcus gave him enough 'pounds' for three bus rides back to London. Percy took the paper, but it didn't feel heavy—much less _pounds_ heavy.

In the first bus, he sat with a bloke that seemed very content of the fact that the last shower he'd had was in 1984.

Flint's possible relative smelled like they'd unearthed him from beyond the times of dinosaurs. His pungent stench permeated through the walls like a deadly omen to all that dared to inhale thy toxic fumes. The odours emerging from his skeletal, almost cadaverous body needed to be studied as potential war weaponry. And Percy was starting to feel side effects of chloride gas ingestion. He was nauseous, and dizzy. He could see why the pregnant woman on front was so visibly distressed. He supposed that that going into labour only exacerbated the feeling!

Someone cried and vomited in the bus. No, it was _not_ the pregnant woman, Percy reddened. _Even his sick smelled better!_

In the second bus, he committed the cardinal sin of asking a woman named Norma where she was heading to.

She told him that life was full of the gifts sat by the trees on the Christmas Day. It was just some people didn't appreciate them because they were hoping for something else. Percy agreed to this. Only a few hours ago did he discover he was a homeless bum that didn't have a family. Percy most definitely did _not_ appreciate it and couldn't return the blasted thing because he managed to lose the bloody receipt too!

And he also lost the box. And he barely had any money. And he was hungry, hot, and his nose was broken.

"I thought I was going to be a famous star," Norma told him. Percy knew plenty about that. Closing his eyes now, he could map out Cassiopeia into his head. It was enough to leave a man wild with dreams. He did not, however, know how she was going to become an amorphous ball of helium and hydrogen, but to each their own. "But they rejected me not because of my talents, _but_ because I dare to challenge societal norms by getting an impromptu mastectomy."

Percy nodded his head. "What is a mastectomy?" he asked. He regretted it when Norma grabbed his hand and thrust it to her chest. This was awkward because he was not exactly, _err_ … starry-eyed for her. "Oh, I see."

"Do you want to _SEE_ it?" Norma asked. He wondered if it was possible for a woman to sexually assault a bloke.

By the third bus, Percy tried to ignore his gnawing stomach growling like a feral beast when a woman _DARED_ to pull out a chicken roll and pay _NO_ attention to it. Instead, she blathered on incessantly to a black contraception into her ear. Percy would _never_ treat a roll like that. He should have her thrown in—thrown in somewhere _dark_ and _ominous_. Preferably the bottom of a soda can for such treacherous behaviour.

As she waved her chicken-roll-filled-hand around, he tried to tell himself she might've plucked the chicken's feathers off for quills. And shredded the poor bird into a salad to put into her big brown bread roll.

By the time that he got to muggle London, Percy was feeling rather optimistic at being a homeless bum.

The first five minutes were _exciting!_ Being sat out in the streets, with Marcus' empty baked beans can! It gave him enough time to study others' behaviours. Percy saw a sixty-year-old bloke that bought enough coffee to annihilate his 'pacemaker'. A group of children were running around with ice-cream cones that were dripping more cream than a breastfeeding mum. A young, thin girl pitched a fit that could embarrass toddlers. Her mother wouldn't use some of their vacation money to buy her the Rolling Stones' albums that she wanted desperately. Apparently, it was _rad_.

Percy understood a rad. It was a unit of absorbed radiation dose. He didn't know any rolling stone that could absorb radiation. Except maybe that gigantic thing between Marcus Flint's ears. Ha! Get it…! _FLINT? STONE?_

During his whole three hours sat on the ground, he was given coins and papers in his can. He had thirteen coins, and three paper notes. During this time, Percy did not see any birds being wrongfully taken to be plucked before roasting, or any women with mastectomies that longed to convert themselves into molecules of gas.

Percy was in great pain. Starving, he remembered the chicken roll from the bus. It had _sweetcorn_ in it.

He was currently being homeless in the middle of a busy London street. He was sat on the pavement, and he was sure that he'd sweated his bum atoms into the asphalt. Percy had been looking at his coins and notes in his baked beans' tin, but he was not sure how to use it. He had taken to _stealthily_ observe a couple of ten-year-olds buy ice-cream from one of the shops and concluded that _he_ was supposed to give this crumbled up, beaten inked paper for ice-cream.

Percy did not remember if he was lactose intolerant or not. He didn't want to be a gaseous atom like Norma.

But honestly! Percy bet he'd see paper in better condition in any one of the shop's toilets. Percy hadn't the foggiest who was on the paper, or why they couldn't have found anyone more pleasant-looking! This woman was a thing of nightmares. Even Norma with the mastectomy was much more pleasant looking _AND_ she was the voice of women today! She defied odds for all human beings everywhere by attempting to become a great, big ball of gas, a feat that a gentleman accomplished when he walked out of that fried chicken place an hour ago!

To his right, there was a small boutique that sold wedding dresses. Most ladies thought these dresses were 'white trash'. Percy felt oddly offended, looking down at his eerily pale skin. To his left, there was an ice-cream shop.

The advertisement said that they had _TWENTY-EIGHT DISTINCT FLAVOURS,_ and then went on to list them.

He thought that this was a fraudulent shop scheme because chocolate and brownie ice-cream were not dissimilar at all.

Percy also wondered if all this memory loss was going to give him premature dementia.

He remembered hearing Marcus say to his mates that they couldn't kill him, because they didn't want to risk having a 'six-foot-two redhead floating in the Ministry fountain ruining You-Know-Who's plans.' Percy did not know what he was talking about. When he asked Marcus who You-Know-Who was, Marcus only replied with 'you know _who!'_. But Percy did not know who! Percy sighed deeply, staring at the sky. It was starting to get darker outside.

A _GIANT_ _OWL_ appearing out of thin air startled him from his thoughts. An owl! Smack in the middle of London!

Percy was so surprised that he accidentally rammed his head into the brick wall behind him. He began to see stars appear before his eyes. None of them looked like Norma! With a thumping headache, Percy began to _LAUGH._

The owl was now startled by this and slammed himself into _CAROL'S WEDDING BOUTIQUE_ sign in the process.

With the way that owl reacted, it was like he hadn't heard anyone laugh before! Percy had to wonder…

Was his laughter maniacal and foreboding? Did this beautiful grey creature assume that Percy was about to stuff him with celery and apple, and scoff him off for a Sunday roast? _I won't stuff you!_ Percy wanted to tell the bird. _You're so stout that I wouldn't know where to put the stuffing!_ Oh, and he supposed that he did not stuff innocuous birds either.

Percy was appalled when the owl disappeared and returned with a quill of another bird dipped in an amorphous ink-like substance! The owl kept on taking one of the notes and slamming it into Percy's head repeatedly. This action didn't make Percy remember anything except that Amanuensis Quills had discounts on Mondays and Tuesdays.

He was homeless for four hours before he got fed up with it. Well, not exactly _fed up_ … Percy was still starving!

Marcus Flint came to visit him that night. It was hot, humid and Percy would really like to take a bath because he was starting to have sour smells coming from him that he was sure belonged to a wet, starving animal. If Percy had eaten or drunken anything and he'd need to use the lavatory, he'd be really embarrassed about the fact that just the smell of him could probably start a war in Britain.

"You're bloody awful at being homeless," Marcus looked over at the baked beans tin. "Make up a story, you dumb bastard. Really talk to them, and then they'll give you more than this rubbish."

Percy was timid. "What should I tell them?" he could say that he didn't know why he needed to take three buses here.

Marcus found that hilarious for whatever reason. "You're having a laugh, aren't you, Wease— _Percy_ ," he cleared his throat. Percy did not know that Marcus had asthma. He was wheezing. "No, you tell them that your sister is sick, and that you need the money to play for an… _operation_ that could save her life. _Then_ they'll give you money."

"I don't have a sister," Percy didn't want to lie, but he knew what an operation was. "What kind of operation?"

Marcus shrugged. "Whichever you like." _Take your pick! Twenty-eight different flavours, endless combinations!_

Percy slowly nodded his head. The next time someone came around with a coin to give to him, Percy told them, "My sister has to have a mastectomy because she wants to cure society's ignorance." They did not give him that coin.

Marcus asked him what a mastectomy was, and Percy just looked at his chest. He didn't know if he was a woman.

Percy hadn't gone to the lavatory yet because he feared confirmation. Well, he _felt_ like a man.

Although, Percy might be a transsexual. Anything was possible these days! He just discovered today that Marcus had asthma. Maybe that was why he sometimes grunted and breathed through his nose. He couldn't get enough air in. He might be suffocating. And this blasted heat was taking away all the air for them to suck on in the first place.

"Tell them that she had to have heart surgery," Marcus looked pleased with himself. "That's always popular."

 _Popular with who?_ Percy wondered. If he wanted surgery anywhere, maybe it would be for sexual reconstruction.

Percy didn't have time to try it out with anyone else. "Anyway, Wease— _Percy_ , I have something important to say," Marcus' asthma was very bad. "You're not going to be homeless anymore."

This was good news. Percy didn't like being homeless for all the four hours that he was homeless in.

"That's wonderful," Percy replied. He didn't sound happy. Was this just his voice? "But now, I don't understand why I took three buses to be homeless, and now, I'm not homeless. Being homeless is extremely costly then, isn't it?"

The black-haired bloke didn't answer him. Marcus just pulled out a folder from his rucksack.

"I have a mate that works in the Ministry that understands my dilemma. He made us new identities. We got into trouble for-for-for—… um, _the quills._ This is yours," Marcus offered Percy the file. He had never seen anything important in that shade of rose-gold. Maybe the woman running _CAROL'S WEDDING BOUTIQUE_ would like it. "He said that it's best to put you back in school. You should be able to take your GSCE's, so you could have a semblance of knowledge so that—um… _other_ people… with… _abilities_ wouldn't believe something is amiss when a normal… Londoner such as yourself doesn't know how to sing _God Save the Queen_. We also have to change our appearances, so that other people— _with abilities_ do not suspect us of being anything than normal Londoners."

Percy was upset talking to Marcus. Everything that he said didn't make any sense… _and_ Percy was a terrible singer.

"Can I have a chicken roll with sweetcorn?" was what Percy asked instead. He didn't know who these 'other people with abilities' were. If these people had _abilities_ , did that mean that the rest of them were disabled?

Percy also did not think that he was from London. He did not sound like the rest of these people here.

After Percy ate three chicken rolls with sweetcorn, Marcus took him to their shiny, new flat. Percy had to take the couch, which was much nicer than the crap-covered pavement. Percy felt sad for the blokes that were homeless for more than just stretches of hours a day, so tomorrow, he was going to give all his money away to other people that didn't have flats. Marcus gave him pyjamas to sleep in for the night. The pyjamas smelled _old_. All that Percy could think about when he fell asleep was that he was hoping that he wasn't sleeping in a dead man's pyjamas.

He didn't wake up until noon, and then he spent some time trying to read his new papers. They were bloody boring.

Percy looked around Marcus' flat. The rooms were small. The kitchen was only stocked with three cartons of eggs, a pot of sugar-free blueberry jam and fat-free milk (maybe Marcus was trying to lose a stone—ha. Get it? Because _FLINT! STONE!_ ). There wasn't anything in the cupboards or pantry. Percy felt very much like the cupboards, very empty inside. The carpets were all a different colour. There were lots of holes in the couches everywhere, stretched out more so than a bent bloke's arse. There was a heavy black box in the living room, and a contraception on the counter that rung once. Percy thought that it might be alive. The owl that Percy met was still following him now and was in the kitchen. Percy fed him blueberry jam, which was very untraditional. So, Percy called his new owl Barry.

Cassius Warrington so pale that he looked whiter than the ivory-coloured room. Adrian Pucey's facial expressions hardened over the past few days—sometimes, blank even. He was more bitter than the black coffee that he drank.

Marcus was still asleep. He snored when he slept. Maybe this was because of his asthma.

They wanted to send him to school. Cassius told Percy that he had no legal guardianship, and that was an issue. Percy didn't know why it was so important he went to school, but it seemed to be related to something that 'Carrow said.'


	7. Undercooked Aubergines

_i haven't updated in ages. my inspiration for this fanfiction sort of disintegrated for a little bit, and life was super busy! usually i try to prep a few chapters, but i didn't even have time to re-read this for a final editing. i hope there aren't too many mistakes in here._

 ** _comment replies:_**

 ** _lazy123:_** _speaking of missing Percy... already, i'm dying to get them all together again. i also didn't update my other fanfiction yet, but i just wanted you to know that since i haven't reread the books in forever (i sort of don't want to since i reread them a decade ago and they meant a lot then. i felt like i would spoil that vibe if i reread it), i almost blushed when you mentioned the whole Crouch wife thing was a decade long thing. and you're right, of course. i had to look it up. i always assumed it was something close... but thanks. i'll deffo be cautious about those timings in the future (whilst still making loads of mistakes probably.)_

 _ **dancetheplanet** : i'm so glad that someone noticed that! i feel like i'm the only one that notices how much i fixate on small details. writing a hysterical/panicked Percy is so funny to me because i can see what he's thinking about. he doesn't even know what he's missing out on!_

 _ **Phoenixx Rising** : i know. it's so hard to remember that he doesn't know very much. but the thing is i think he's also extremely innocent at this point. he's almost like a child. he's a clean slate with very little of his original personality. i hope that i don't make him completely OOC though. he can't angst about work, his home, etc. because he doesn't remember that. it's like he's a baby! it's definitely an interesting concept. _

_**Matthew W. Kirkland:** thank you! _

_**Heart** : oh, Percy and his bad jokes rule the day. this review was so sweet. i don't even know how to reply to it. Percy is the king of amnesiacs right now since the muggle world is pretty much foreign to him at this point. he might as well be on the Starfleet right now. _

_**closetkpopfan** : i do have a story with a dead Percy plotline. i wanted one where he killed himself and came back. i've done something similar before in another fandom where a character did kill themselves, and only really 'haunted' one person. _

_**HP addict** : the actual fight is interesting because we never see it. we hear about it from Ron and Ron is extremely biased against Percy. of course, i'm also super biased against Percy because i basically only write about him. it can probably be set up nice with someone that has neutral feelings about all these characters, or strongly sides with both of them. i think that Molly probably loves Percy too much, but he doesn't realise it. i also think that he's very orderly and hard to love for Arthur or to show easy care for, and i think there's a lot of unspokenness about what happened in the row because in the end of the day, i don't think i can get over the fact that it went for so long without any reconciliation. especially when Arthur genuinely believed there was a war / Percy did not. i think that whole book was Percy's mini rebellious phase... i definitely don't like that he hurt Molly though. she's a really caring, doting mother. though i do like fanfictions that show her off in a worse light mostly because i can imagine it going 50/50. but at the same time, it's also hard for me to swallow that Percy is as cold as Ron made him seem to be because if i was in his situation, i would feel very irritated. though the actual character in real life would definitely frustrate you because he'd be extremely hard to be around. my main thing though is i like characters that have a lot of faults and Percy also seems to have a very obvious neurotic side to him... i can't help myself writing that!_

* * *

 **Muggle Me**

Chapter Seven: Undercooked Aubergines

* * *

During Molly's pregnancy with Percy, Arthur began to see why her parents chose the name _MOLLY!_ Merlin, was she _bitter!_ She was harder to swallow than a piece of Perkins' ninety-percent dark chocolate!

 _Helps your fertility!_ Perkins said… well, Arthur certainly didn't need the help!

Six-year-old Bill dared _not_ to scribble on walls for fear of being attacked by a red-haired, freckled basilisk in pink—though it wasn't like he needed to be attacked considering how constantly petrified he was.

The worst wasn't her wrath. The worst was her extensive crying spells! During her pregnancy, Molly consumed a vast amounts of antidepressant potions to treat her antenatal depression. She also soothed herself with multiple peanut butter brickle bars, which was ironic because Percy had a fatal peanut allergy. In fact, once Arthur forgot to wash his hands after he had one of Honeyduke's Peanut Butter Explosion chocolate bars—and _Percy_ nearly exploded.

When they got to St Mungo's, five-year-old Percy was more swollen than Molly three months into her pregnancy.

Moving on from that unnecessary anecdote—during Molly's pregnancy with Percy, four-year-old Charlie managed to start wetting the bed again. His first act of random magic involved spontaneously having his sheets cleaned before his mum came up the stair. It was a tremendous feat—considering that little, fear-struck Charlie managed to remember what _scent_ his mum's current softener was because most flowers made her nauseous!

 _Ginger and orange marmalade!_ Arthur said when Molly first picked up the softener. _Are you having a laugh?_

Arthur wondered how much Bill got bullied that year—having his robes sent by owl, smelling like ginger newts!

The days where Arthur went to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions for his wife's maternity robes were torturous because his once too-thin five-stone wife now couldn't find any robes! When they'd gotten to the extra-extra-large maternity robes and they _still_ wouldn't occupy the girth of her abdomen, Arthur wondered if he could use a dragon's bedsheet with sleeves as robes for his wife. At the time, she was only four months into her pregnancy.

Arthur was under the assumption the nightmare was over when he came back home to discover his wife in labour, but Percy's labour took so long that a weary, sleep-deprived Arthur told the healers to: _HURRY UP! Catch the snitch already!_

Trust Percy to be a foetus! He didn't want to be late, so he arrived _THREE_ months before his due date! But since he was so premature, Arthur didn't expect to see such this skeletal, veiny reddish-purple aubergine. Arthur had a particularly difficult time digesting (ha, digest? Nightshades?) the fact that that was a living baby that needed a thin tube, and a magically powered incubator to stay alive. Arthur had about as much attachment to it as a muddy sickle.

"Arthur," Molly, however, was so horrified to see her blue-coloured baby. "Where are they taking him?"

An hour later, she was paler than the sheets. "How is he?" she'd lost _SO MUCH BLOOD_ by then. "Arthur, how is he?"

"He's alright," Arthur answered, neglecting to tell her about the fact that the nurses thought he'd be in intensive care, or that he was so premature that he couldn't breathe on his own. "He's alright. Molly, love… are you feeling alright?"

"Of course, I'm alright!" she replied. The nurses didn't seem to think so. Neither did Arthur. " _WHERE_ is my baby?"

"It's alright," one of the nurses told Molly. The white-faced healer came in, looking so frantic that Arthur's heart practically leaped out of his chest. "It's alright. Take deep breaths," the same nurse said.

After infusing her with oxytocin-containing potions and packing her vagina with a gauze, Molly was taken away.

Molly could've _died_ , and all she cared about was her baby. Arthur had nobody to talk to during this time.

Who could he tell this to? Four-year-old Charlie? Six-year-old Bill? _Your mum nearly DIED for your new baby brother?_

She was all wires for weeks—and all she could ask him about was how Charlie and Bill was, and when they were going to let Percy out of intensive care. Molly never asked about Arthur. She'd never done that before, because she could see right through how much he was struggling. And he was struggling! He was struggling with the idea that he could've been holding his dead, cold wife in his hands and had to take care of three children. By _himself_. But all she asked about was when did Arthur see the baby last! _THE BABY!_ Arthur hated going into that intensive care room, to look at the aubergine. He hated it especially when Percy started morphing into something that was _not_ an aubergine.

After a while, Percy became this tiny little thing that Arthur had to stare straight at. He looked like he would die if they took the tube out. He barely existed at all. There was no way Arthur would tell that to _his wife_.

For a while, it was just Arthur, Charlie and Bill. Charlie kept on asking him where his mum was, and where the new baby was. When Arthur showed them pictures, a disgusted six-year-old Bill shook his head.

 _They don't look like that!_ Bill told Arthur. _I've never seen one look like that before_.

By the time Molly came home, she had more stitches than one of her Christmas jumpers.

Even as an infant, Percy had to have things his way or else, the whole Burrow would cave in. He absolutely refused to drink Molly's breastmilk. He'd never met an infant that would rather die of dehydration than drink what was provided for him! Instead of succumbing to his mum's breast milk, Percy would spend the day driving the Burrow up the walls because he was famished. After trying a range of products from the store, Percy took a liking to the _most expensive formula_ in Diagon bloody Alley! Molly tried to reason with him. One breast milk feed, one formula feed. Breast milk, then have the formula as a top off. But have you ever tried reasoning with someone that had no control of his own bodily movements? It was particularly hard. It had been years and Arthur _still_ couldn't reason with Bilius!

A case of Percy's new formula cost more than half the shop they needed for the whole _MONTH!_ Arthur was so livid about it that he'd tried to cheat by adding more water when preparing the formula, but the sodding bastard could tell.

The worst thing about it was that Percy could tell even before he even drank it! Arthur would mix in the new measurements, and Percy would turn his head away before he could be fed.

 _How do you know if you've never tried it?_ Arthur asked. Percy just glared at him… he usually won these arguments.

Molly continued to try to breastfeed him, but Percy shrieked and cried like a banshee. Arthur wondered if three-month-old Percy found it uncouth that his mum would expose her knockers out in public.

Weaning Percy onto food was more harrowing than being in the Order of the Phoenix!

By the time that they managed to get Percy to choke down a few rusks without having it spit it out directly onto the carpet, he'd already learned how to _tell_ his mum that he didn't like those _round cardboard things!_

The war was a difficult time. Arthur barely got to see his family.

After the war, Arthur believed that the hard times were over. They moved into the Burrow and made it their home. His other children were easy to figure out, but five-year-old Percy was a tedious report sat on his desk, written in Elvish, that Arthur usually sent down to Perkins. When Arthur tried to buy him toys, Percy refused to accept them. When Arthur asked him if he wanted to play Quidditch, Percy stared at him like he wasn't supposed to be there.

Arthur remembered walking up to Percy, who had tucked his shirt into his trousers. "Percy? What are you doing?"

Percy looked up at him sternly. " _I'm_ not allowed to talk to strangers," and then wandered to his room.

"I'm your father," Arthur said. He was so wounded. "I have red hair like _you!_ See?" he tried to reason.

Percy crossed his arms over his chest, unconvinced. " _I'M_. _NOT_. _STUPID!_ "

It was six-thirty in the morning. As he stirred sugar into his coffee, Arthur remembered the row that they had a few days ago. And there Percy was, speechless as he gawked at him when Arthur told him Fudge was obviously using him to spy—probably not the best words to use. Arthur could practically hear Percy scream at him: _I'M. NOT. STUPID!_

 _Like you_ , Arthur's inner monologue sounded like a nefarious Percy. _YOU are an ambitionless waste of neurons!_

Arthur dropped an extra cube of sugar by accident. Wonderful. Well, he didn't have any pudding last night, so he might as well have it this morning. He sipped his coffee, and turned to his grey-looking eggs, and white toast.

Perkins owled him _The Daily Prophet!_ Arthur was about to throw it in the bin until he read the headline.

 _DEATH EATERS FOUND IN DIAGON ALLEY, ATTRACTED BY AMANUENSIS QUILLS' NEW DISCOUNT._

Really! Quills! Arthur wished he could set it on fire. He wanted to torch it and send it to Perkins' along with a thirty-percent cocoa chocolate bar for a real treat instead of that ninety-percent cauldron-coloured chalk. Grumbling to himself, it suddenly dawned on Arthur that _THIS_ meant that the row that he had with Percy was null and void now that he knew that Dumbledore wasn't a crackpot after all! Arthur could just march down to Percy's office now and hand him back his wand and- … well, they could have a coffee together and Percy could move back.

Knowing his luck, Arthur was more likely be stuck in a café by himself, picking off aubergines from his toastie—

 _WAIT!_ Arthur picked up that paper again and looked at it more clearly.

Amanuensis Quills didn't have any _new_ discounts! They'd been trying to get rid of those dodgy quills for ages now!

When Arthur's eyes fell analyse the photograph, he choked. And it was not because he needed to be sent to St Mungo's for life-threatening hyperglycaemia. Seeing a photograph of _PERCY_ with Death Eater robes flying across Diagon Alley made his heart beat faster than Alasdair Maddock in the last Quidditch game that he played against Pride of Portree. Yes, Arthur may be count the number of O.W.L's he had on one hand, but he was sure that those were two other blokes with Percy and there were _THREE_ robes in total. So that meant that… well, one plus two equalled _my son is NOT and WILL NEVER BE a bloody Death Eater and this is a ridiculous notion to even ENTERTAIN!_

Arthur put the paper down and took off his glasses. Was his vision fading because he didn't eat ninety-percent dark chocolate? Was this article two parts—one about Percy's excitement on a quill discount and Death Eater ambushes?

He walked upstairs with his cup of coffee just in time to hear his children bicker in the hallway.

Bill and Charlie had just arrived in England last night, and all they'd been doing thus far was constantly bickering about the row that Percy and Arthur had. Bill was as pissed off with Arthur as he was with himself.

Meanwhile, Charlie sympathised more with scaly creatures than he did with his own brother. What a nightmare.

"Do you honestly believe the _rubbish_ they try to print these days?" Bill was fuming. He looked like he was one minute away from tearing his own earring out and feeding it to Charlie. "Maybe he has a bloody point leaving this sodding family if his own flesh and blood genuinely believe that he's a fucking Death Eater!"

"Maybe he is!" Charlie yelled. "When did _YOU_ have such time to understand what he's capable of doing?"

Bill's eyes widened. He looked like he was about to collapse on Molly's new maroon Persian carpet.

"Capable of doing?" Bill echoed. "The thought of playing in the rain gives Percy heart palpitations! Are you seriously going to tell me that you think he's capable of _hurting other people_ just to butter up to You-Know-Who's arse?"

"Why not?" Charlie sneered. "He seems to think that Dad was keeping him from reaching his full potential!"

"You thought that _STAYING HERE IN ENGLAND_ for a career wasn't reaching your bloody potential!" Bill yelled back. "Do you want to strangle muggleborns now? And what do _you_ know about Percy? You spent half your bloody life making fun of him! You made him cry on his first day in Hogwarts!"

"Now, _I'M_ the Death Eater?" Charlie coldly replied. " _YOU_ didn't stay in England either, you bastard!"

Ginny looked wide-eyed and innocent almost. "But what he said about Harry was…—"

 _"Oh please!"_ Bill cut her off. "I've heard Ron say worse about Harry when he beat him in Exploding Snap!"

"And what about what he said about Dad?" Ron looked like he was contemplating hexing Bill in the middle of the hallway on Sunday morning. "And what do _YOU_ know about my relationship with Harry! You're barely Just because _you're_ the oldest doesn't mean you know what you're saying!"

"It sounds to me like Dad said some awful things too! Why isn't _he_ being held accountable for that?" Bill grumbled.

Arthur's heart sank. He _very_ held himself much accountable for the things that he'd told Percy.

George's face looked flat. " _Maybe_ he's You-Know-Who's bookkeeper."

Fred nodded his head solemnly. "And maybe he gets a shiny badge for a _job well done!"_

Bill was stunned speechless. He looked paler than the anaemic chicken that Charlie cooked himself last night.

" _Who's_ You-Know-Who's bookkeeper?" and there, his wonderful wife was. Molly was standing in her old, seafoam dressing gown, and her bright red hair hadn't had an identifiable texture since she'd given birth to Charlie.

The whole Burrow was so silent that they could hear a flobberworm move.

"What is going on in here, Arthur?" Molly asked. Knowing he was about to disappoint her again made his heart ache.

He felt like recently, all he'd been doing was letting her down. The thought of letting her read article made his stomach twist. He'd rather sleep in the couch for the rest of his life than show the woman that he loved that paper.

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but it was like he had a bezoar stuck in his throat.

"Nothing," Bill grumbled angrily, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm sorry that we woke you up mom—"

Molly looked like she was about to tell him off for being a terrible liar. She'd not been sleeping well or eating the past few days, and she was more temperamental than a Gerda Curd cheese souffle.

 _"Nothing?"_ Ron mumbled in annoyance. "Mum… _PERCY_ is a no-good Death Eater!"

Molly's jaw dropped. That was one way to get over the morning gloom without a pot of coffee! Merlin!

"And Harry's apparently a _MANIAC_ if you believe everything _The Daily Prophet_ spews out!" Bill replied.

"That's enough," Arthur said calmly, moving over to his shocked wife. Honestly, he was sick of seeing his children fight like this. It was making Molly upset, and she'd barely eaten in the last few days. "Now, _LISTEN,_ you—"

"Maybe _you're_ the one that needs the glasses! There were _PICTURES_ there!" Charlie shot back. _"MORON!"_

 _"ARSEHOLE!"_ Bill yelled back. "He's your _BROTHER!_ How… how dare you!" and then he swung at Charlie.

Charlie ducked, but not before he grabbed Bill and twisted his arm. Bill's scream echoed in the house. He stomped on Charlie's foot, and Charlie recoiled, slamming into the wall. A frustrated Arthur wedged herself between them.

 _"THAT IS ENOUGH!"_ Arthur yelled. "You two are my eldest but you're _BOTH ARE ACTING LIKE CHILDREN!"_

Charlie snorted. "He started it!" he pointed it towards Bill. " _Percy's_ my brother… but _HE_ could take a swing at me!"

Bill perfected his brooding look. Arthur bet he'd make a great addition to The Weird Sisters now.

Arthur shook his head in disbelief. He almost wished that Bill and Charlie didn't visit at all if they were going to be so childish. " _I_ am going to go to the Ministry tomorrow morning and I'm going to talk to your brother."

Fred looked gravely serious. "With twelve O.W.L's, Percy wouldn't be stupid enough to turn into work tomorrow."

"His aneurysm he has might actually explode missing a day of work," George replied. If looks could've killed, Bill would've butchered George by now. " _BUT_ he won't get thrown into Azkaban!"

"Fudge is _SO_ paranoid that there's no way he's going to even let this go to trial," Ron agreed.

Arthur realised that his previous plan went up in flames. If Percy had a Ministry-registered residence, they would've searched it to the point where they knew what kind of cleaning potions Percy liked to use!

"You're right," Arthur said softly. "He's not safe out there! I… I-I have to find him!"

The thought that Percy might get thrown into Azkaban was terrifying him, and it terrified him to think about what Molly was thinking right now. She made ghosts look rosy with how pale she was. Ginny looked worried for her.

"Amanuensis Quills might have an idea," Bill suggested. "I bet they're getting a lot of press after that headline!"

Charlie didn't look too pleased with the predicament, but Arthur was sure he didn't want Percy to be found out by the Ministry because they would massacre him. "We can send him an owl too."

"I'll write it," Molly said in a soft voice, and then her eyes hardened. "I'll write it _right now_." She ran downstairs.

Arthur knew what she was thinking without her saying a word. _Why did you have to have that row with him? Did you see what you did? How could you do this to him? What if something happens to him? Is this worth it NOW?_

Charlie's face was blank and expression as he said, "I bet a thousand Galleons that he's not going to write back."


	8. I Am Tortured by Cassius' Brain Spell

_i was stuck for the longest time, wondering what to do with this!_

 _here's my two things, and i want your opinions, guys._

 _what i planned originally for this was that this was going to be mostly orientated about Percy losing his memory and sort of trying to find out the muggle world since he doesn't remember much about the wizarding world. **BUT** this chapter is insane and it went down deeper than i thought and i have a lot of ideas... now, i have a possible sensitive childhood trauma story line that can be combined with this Death Eaters/OOTP plotline that i also sort of have... but i'm not sure how many people would be interested if i divulge deeper into Percy's interaction with the Death Eaters/wizarding world, because the summary implies that this is a straight forward story: **Percy loses memory. Percy has to be muggle. end of story.** what are you guys' thoughts? keep it simple, or go down a very complicated route of which i do not know the end product of? because if i do keep it simple, my direction for this fanfic will completely change on the last scene in this chapter versus if i have Percy involved with the wizarding world **and** the muggle world at the same time. with Percy obviously being muggle-ified either way. _

_trigger warnings for **self-harm** , which i already implied in the first few chapters anyway. yeah, it's kind of graphic._

 _i tried to edit this but my brain stopped working. honestly._

 _ **looking at all my chapter seven reviews:**  
_

 _ **Heart** : i loved reading this. oh my God. Arthur totally regrets fighting with Percy. poor Ron. i always make him mean to Percy, but can you blame me with how their relationship is portrayed in the books? which i always thought is weird since i think Hermione and Percy share way too many attributes. my specialty is destroying the Weasley family. they are so nice, but i always like making them as dysfunctional as possible!  
_

 _ **Phoenixx Rising** : yes, well, i had to do something with this Arthur since i completely butchered his character in my other fanfics! _

_**Lazy123** : thank you. i try not to take it too seriously because if i do, this fanfiction is going to be super heavy to read. which i'm trying to avoid... as for the clock, i've made a mental note. hopefully i don't forget it for the next chapter!  
_

* * *

 **Muggle Me**

Chapter Eight: I Am Tortured by Cassius' Brain Spell

* * *

As Marcus rose from the treacherous toilet, his stomach let out sounds that he thought sounded like a Kneazle being tossed off the Hogwarts' stairs. Yesterday, he wrote a will that went into cumbersome detail about how that if he died, he wanted to make sure that Daphne Greengrass got nothing. Even though she had no reason to expect _anything_ from him… well, it wasn't like he _delivered_ the first time! Something she never failed to bloody well remind him!

Whatever he'd eaten in the past twenty years had failed to sustain him in the past hundred and twenty hours.

That shepherd pie that Marcus believed he digested in 1984 came back with a vengeance! He'd thrown up so many colours he considered registering himself as a portrait artist! All because Cassius bloody Warrington put the Weasley—with more moonstone powder in his _HEAD_ than a love potion—in charge of feeding them.

Bangers and mash! Yes, Marcus was banged up! Whatever was inside him was all mashed _and_ regurgitated. He was frothing mash at the mouth and dripping mushy peas from the nose. And he'd been busy playing an important game of Exploding Snap. But what was Percy playing at? Was this his family's way of _recycling_ their bloody dinners?

Wiping off vomit from his mouth with the sleeve of his long white shirt (what? It wasn't like anyone was looking and he was feeling bloody unwell), Marcus contemplated strangling Percy Weasley's noisy bloody owl, who kept on moaning all morning because he could tell that Percy didn't remember anything about him.

With red-rimmed steely grey eyes, he felt heavier than that sixth year he dated two months ago.

As he listlessly collapsed on his bed, an exhausted Marcus let out a series of groans that typically came out of a woman that was trying to push an eight-pound baby out of her womb. This was eloquently followed by succession of violent grunts and creative curses that he wouldn't have wanted his mum to hear. Marcus dejectedly sighed, pulling the duvet over his head. He tried to feel less sorry for himself, but it didn't work out.

Did Marcus mention that Percy said that he wanted to make a bubble and squeak from the Sunday roast! _BUBBLE_ and _SQUEAK!_ Marcus was pretty sure that that was a euphemism for bloody, explosive diarrhoea if he'd ever heard one!

Marcus hoped Percy didn't want any pudding. All he could image was Percy deciding that a spotted dick was _perfect!_

Speaking of the ginger newt, he just appeared by the doorway, drowning in Cassius Warrington's tattered pyjamas.

"Why are you all still in bed? It's _three_ in the afternoon!" Percy was standing by the doorway, completely rosy-looking compared to how stony Cassius was. Meanwhile, Marcus and Adrian's clothes were already starting to hang off them because they hadn't been able to keep down anything. Yesterday, that stupid arsehole Adrian was sent to the muggle hospital with _dehydration_. In a flat that was bloody filled to the brim with _WATER_.

"Are you alright?" Percy asked. "You look pale—well, you are typically pale… but what I mean is that you look _paler_ than normal. And normally, you have the complexion of a marshmallow after it's been frightened half to death."

Of course, Weasley could probably eat a whole stone and shit normally after. _"_ Just _peachy!"_ Marcus said.

"You'll feel even peachier after you taste my homemade peach tart!" Percy said eagerly. "Would you like me to cut you a portion? Because you're getting fairly thin. I think it's because you haven't been eating enough."

All Marcus could hear was: _would you like me to cut you?_ He thought the bastard did enough of that already.

"I'm _fairly thin_ because I've been chucking up everything you've given me to eat for the past week!" Throwing off his duvet, Marcus sat on the edge of his bed. Meanwhile, his stomach played a discordant symphony. "Did you come in here to annoy me or murder me, Wease— _Percy?_ Because I'd prefer if you took a knife instead of a rolling pin!"

Percy sat down on the chair next to Marcus' desk. His desk was strewn with his new identification papers. Except the lads that drew up his papers were having a laugh at him. They'd made him into a bloody _woman_ named _Marcy Stone_. Cassius Warrington was still laughing about that—in the adjacent bathroom after he threw up his ten-quid steak. _HA_.

Just wait—Marcus was going to blend a suspicious-looking peach tart in that arsehole's strawberry protein shake!

Percy stiffened slightly, and his cheeks turned red. "I didn't mean to put your life in eminent danger," he said. "And that rolling pin was very expensive. I wouldn't want to bludgeon you with it. Besides, I'm not particularly sure if I can smash your head hard enough to kill you. Though Adrian did say that you're probably still suffering from that concussion in 1986. Did you know how _serious_ post-concussion syndrome is? I've just read a book about—"

" _WHAT_ did you come here to tell me about?" an irritated Marcus cut him off.

"I came in here to tell you that I've made a peach tart," Percy replied, tapping the floor with his freckled feet. "And um…"

Eating tarts? Was he having a laugh? For once, Marcus had already slept with enough tarts in his life. He also didn't fancy spending the rest of the year stuck in a vegetative state because he'd decided to splash out his deteriorating health status on a peach tart. Especially because Marcus didn't even _like_ peaches.

"Didn't I already tell you?" Marcus Flint felt like he was talking to a brick wall. " _I_ don't want a bloody tart!"

"It isn't bloody!" Percy crossed his arms over his chest. "It's only got peaches in it. I stewed them so that they don't break any more of your, _um_ … _teeth_." Percy stammered like he wasn't sure if Marcus really did have teeth!

Marcus' teeth were not that bad. They looked better than the gammon Percy tried to feed him yesterday.

Grumbling to himself for thirty seconds, he noticed that Percy hadn't left. So, Marcus was pretty sure that he was not there to tell him about the tart! _Whatever_. Amnesiac Percy had the mentality of a first year about to be sorting into Hogwarts. Marcus was particularly sure that whatever was bothering him was laughable. He could sort this out and go to bed before his bowels exploded. Can you imagine what they would say about him if he died from a stomach bug after surviving a month of Cruciatus curses?

 _"What is it?"_ Marcus wanted to go back to bed before he contracted cholera. "What's eating _you_ up, Wease— _Percy?"_

"Well… certainly not an uneaten peach tart!" Percy said, nervously rubbing his neck. He chuckled.

After he heard that joke, Marcus really wished he could bludgeon himself with a rolling pin.

Percy did not say anything afterwards. He was starting down at the floor like a little third year that was just about to tell him that she actually talked to him because she had a crush on one of his prettier mates and wondered if they'd take her down to Hogsmeade. But they could still stay friends if Marcus wanted! Because really, what every troll wanted was to have an army of pretty faced blondes with silver eyes as _friends_. How dumb did they think he was?

"Well?" Marcus could feed Alecto Carrow the peach tarts now that he thought about it. " _GET ON WITH IT!"_

"Al…" Percy said. He moved to unbutton his pyjama top and Marcus started coughing. "Al… alright."

"What are you doing?" Marcus paled when Percy finished unbuttoning his top. "I'm not _nearly_ bent enough!"

"Bent enough for what?" Percy asked, as Marcus started coughing. He felt a loop of nausea and he hadn't even eaten that bastard's tart. And he didn't feel well either, knowing the tarts he slept with thought that he was _most unsatisfactory_.

When Percy took off his shirt, Marcus was about to tell him off but instead, froze. Percy's body was so scarred that it looked like a werewolf just had his way with him and then threw him in a dirty pit! Angry, jagged lines were just screaming at him. There were gashes everywhere. Some of them were stitched up—Flint supposed that Percy's mum taught him how to stitch things up. He bet she didn't expect he'd use it to sew himself up back after he slashed himself to he really hadn't bothered stitching up others! Others that had were deep enough to expose his anatomy!

"Marcus, um…" Percy went white. "Do you know how you could fix this? Because—uh…I find it unsettling staring at the… _discontinuities_ in my skin when I'm trying to take a bath. I do prefer my blood products to be… _inside_ me?"

Percy let his hands drop to the sides. "It hurts." It hurt because it looked to Marcus that the Weasley liked to open up a wound that already healed with a fucking axe. Marcus had honestly seen starving trolls butcher birds more gracefully.

Beyond gashes that looked like they would take decades to heal, Percy had _words_ slashed into his body.

From _NOT GOOD ENOUGH_ deeply gashed into his skin (with what? A muggle chainsaw?) to _STUPID, BORING, PATHETIC, PRAT_ and _GIT_ taking off the rest of the spaces. For creative flair! Marcus was sure that if Percy knew what happened, he wouldn't be showing off his deepest insecurities to the bloke that erased all his memories.

"And _what?_ Did you expect me to be give you a _SKIN GRAFT?"_ Marcus asked. "You'd need more than just me!"

Percy flinched, and rubbed his arm—and flinched again, remembering that it was mauled to bits. "It hurts a _lot_."

"You can't do anything about it now, can you? Do I look like I grant wishes? Just-just… _COVER IT UP_ and forget about it! _"_ Marcus finally spat out nervously. He should've told him that if he was unsettled by the discontinuities of his skin, he probably should not be hacking away at it in his spare time. "No… _NOBODY_ wants to see that!"

Marcus was pretty sure that Percy didn't slash himself to ribbons because he wanted other people to _SEE_ it.

"I just wanted something to put on it…" Percy's voice was soft. Marcus could tell whatever he said _hurt his feelings_.

Marcus snorted. "The only thing you can do with _THAT_ is use a disinfection spell on that before _it bloody kills you!_ "

"Marcus…um... you're... you're shaking," Percy raised an eyebrow, noticing the way that Marcus was trembling now. "Are you alright?"

He had a right to be shaking! Blimey! He'd seen less blood in the torture chambers. At least he could give I'll-Give-Head Boy credit for the fact that he probably wasn't squeamish if he didn't stop at the point where some of his bone was starting to pop out of his bloody wrist. You'd have to be smart to do that and _not_ die.

"Are you cold?" Percy asked, and when he moved, Marcus went even whiter seeing one of the gashes bulge and turn redder. "Because _I_ managed to make a peach tart that could warm you up if I stick it in the heating box in the kitchen!" Maybe if he stuck it in, he'd actually cook it.

"I don't want a bloody tart!" Marcus felt queasy. "Just… _COVER IT UP!_ And don't show it to anyone… _EVER!"_

"Oh… okay," Percy said tentatively. He buttoned his shirt back up, and then went red in the face. "I… I'm sorry if I've upset you, Marcus. Did someone harm you as well?" he asked. Harm him? That was practically massacre!

"Nobody tried to _harm me_ ," Marcus mocked in a baby-like voice. "And don't go around walking in the nude!"

Percy nodded his head silently. "Do you know how it happened?" he asked. _Yeah, you slice your arm in your pastime._

"Maybe you got attacked by a bear," Marcus replied, shrugging. He couldn't think of a muggle animal to save his life.

"A bear in England?" Percy asked incredulously. At least he'd been doing his homework. "What's it doing here?"

Marcus didn't know anything about any bears. "Maybe _YOU_ tried to ask it what it was doing there!" he yelled. "Maybe _THAT'S_ why it mauled you!" Yeah, and he supposed the bear clawed out _BORING_ on his hip.

Merlin, how did he even manage to do that without anyone noticing? He'd imagine the blood bath to follow that! And the _smell_ alone must've been… Marcus shuddered just thinking about it. He thought he had a strong gut but there was something about seeing leaking, seeping gashes stitched up by a second-hand sewing kit that was just...

Percy nodded his head. "Alright," if he believed the bear story, then Marcus was pretty sure he torched his brain too. Or Weasley made himself lose a shocking amount of blood.

"Maybe show it to Cassius," Marcus said, snorting. "At least he could help stitch that up properly."

Percy looked confused. "I thought you just told me not to show it to anyone," he said.

"Cassius _is_ a nobody," Marcus replied. He was the one that wanted this as a profession! Let him enjoy hacked up freckled arms, and white stuff gushing out of new wounds! He'd imagine that the Weasley ran out of sewing threads, and just decided to leave a five-inch wound exposed until it started seeping yellow-white gunk.

As Percy rolled down his sleeves, he flinched when he accidentally brushed his hand against his newly stitched cuts. Just before this stupid redhead walked out of his family home, he probably decided to decorate the walls with his blood! It made Marcus wonder why he joined the Ministry when he could live out his life as a portrait artist.

"But Marcus, can… can Cassius heal this? I think this is infected and…" Percy pointed to the seeping wound. Yeah, that was infected. That was so infected even Marcus felt ill looking at it. "Well, I…I would prefer not to die."

Marcus couldn't fathom the fact that a bloke that did _that_ to himself that wanted to _live_. "Why don't you ask him?" he spat out coldly. "Do I look like I have blonde hair and pretty eyes to you?" Cassius could make a rock fall in love with him.

Too bad Marcus was so stupid, else he'd probably be swooning for Cassius Warrington too.

When Percy left, he crawled under the covers again and tried to suffocate himself—you know, the normal way to hate yourself. The one that didn't require a chainsaw and a sewing kit! Marcus genuinely wondered if Percy Weasley tried to inflict a Cruciatus curse on himself or would he have not risked it because he would have broken the rules? Marcus shuddered in incomprehension and disbelief. He also tried to tell himself that he'd done something good by erasing Percy's memories to the point where he couldn't fathom why 'anyone' would try to cut down his arm so deep down he could practically see his own arteries. Honestly… what was he supposed to say to him?

 _You did it to yourself!_ Marcus winced. _You probably hate yourself because you really are a giant git. Also, NOBODY likes you! Even your own fucking twin brothers make fun of you, Humongous Bighead._

Like Percy actually needed anymore reminders about how much of a git he was! Not when he'd decided to sink his blade so far into his skin that Marcus was sure that that thing wouldn't heal without a scar. A scar even his blind aunt could see!

It made him wonder if he ran out of places, was he going to use his face? What if someone walked in on you when you were busy slugging one up the newest, hottest bookworm in town? And most importantly, how come Marcus didn't smell the blood waft off him? Did he use a smell to prevent people from being able to tell that he cut himself?

And how come vampires hadn't already sucked the blood out of him?

What if he bled out and died in wherever part of the house that one mutilated themselves in? Marcus would shudder, even trying to imagine walking in on the relative that he hated. Much less one of his sisters. What was going on in his head when he was doing that? _Oh, look at that, mum! I can bleed everywhere! Oh, look! I can see my tendon, mum!_

Marcus shook his head, still nauseated even hours later. _Bloody Hell_ ….no pun intended, of course.

Aside from that incident, Marcus believed that living with the ginger prat was not that bad once Cassius Warrington decided that he was going to teach Percy how _not_ to kill them with undercooked chicken breast and smoked sweet potatoes with enough tar on them to make a Pepper-Up Potion seem like a viable dinner option.

Marcus had been giving Percy textbooks for him to read so that he could try and convince a normal muggle school that he had the knowledge of a final year muggle student. Percy couldn't scoop out Walls' soft-scoop vanilla in front of a bunch of muggles and then shriek because his ice-cream was melting. And Percy could not go to any muggle and ask gems like, "Who is God and what do people thank him for? For all I know, _He's_ been melting my ice-cream."

It was endearing if you were about five and were questioning the state of the world. It was _not_ endearing if you were a nineteen-year-old bloke with skin the colour of pastry cream—after you'd dumped in half a canister of cinnamon!

You'd think if you reproduced enough, you'd manage to churn out _one_ Weasley that looked half-decent!

Cassius thought that Marcus wasn't one to talk when he looked like something that was left in the streets to die.

Speaking of which—before Cassius committed his life to an overgrown Slytherin enthusiast whose main goal in life was to be the snakiest snake of all the lot, he'd been studying to become a healer at St Mungo's. Hard to do that now when you're busy killing off muggles and muggleborns for the crime of being born! You were chosen to be part of this legacy… because you happened to have a father whose favourite pastime to kill small, defenceless things!

"There's a spell to assess brain injury in most conditions," Cassius said over their game of Exploding Snap. "Because I think you managed to dislodge the stick up his arse so far up his brain you actually shattered his nervous system."

Well, Marcus believed that Percy should be thanking him if he shattered his nervous system. Bastard.

"He still gets plenty nervous to me," Marcus just shrugged. He didn't have one of those. Too much gillyweed.

Adrian just snorted, and then his card exploded in his face. Unlike his aspiration of being the biggest poof to exist.

"I've seen blokes that have sustained long-term Bludger injuries that think more coherently—including _you_ , Flint," Adrian said. Adrian knew the word _coherent?_ That Weasley been giving him Word of the Day tutorials now?

"Can you _really_ injure that thick skull I wonder?" Cassius feigned a look of thoughtfulness.

"Must be possible if Weasley's big head got affected," Adrian gave up his spot in the game. He gave up because he was losing so badly that even Merlin himself couldn't help him. " _HOW_ can you muck up a memory charm _that bad?_ Honestly, I know you aren't that great with a wand, but he'd be more lucid if you bashed his head in with a rock!"

"Maybe not if that rock was Marcus' skull," Cassius inquired, and Marcus shoved him to the table _. "OW!"_

"Must've slipped!" Marcus waved his fist theatrically. " _I'm_ so stupid that I don't know how to sit without directions!"

"You should be able to fix that now that you're a healer," Adrian told Cassius, who was massaging his head.

Cassius groaned, and then forfeited the game. Sure, Marcus was plenty stupid when it came to reading words, but the big healer couldn't guess what kind of card that Marcus had without straining his _nervous system_.

"I'm surprised you remember what the spell was," Cassius told Marcus. They couldn't just sit around without anyone reminding Marcus of how botchy his memory charm job was. That was the kind of mates that he had. Arseholes. "But Snape was impressed that you hadn't managed to put him in a ventilator because he's forgotten how to breathe."

Marcus was surprised he did that spell with the lining of Carrow's knicker showing through her robes. It was hard to perform spells without eyes, you know? "Snape?" Marcus thought he'd have escaped Snape's scowl after Hogwarts. "With Dumbledore's cock so far down his throat that the he managed to fuck the _Professor's_ arse at the same time?"

"I'd tell him you said that!" Adrian said. Marcus wasn't worried. What was Snape going to do? _Give him detention?_

"You really think that Snape's a traitor?" Cassius asked. "And he's loyal to _Dumbledore?_ You know there's a reason that _dumb_ is in his name?"

Adrian just shrugged. "There's a reason Flint is in Marcus' name," he said. "Brain of a stone."

"Wait, so now I have a brain?" Marcus rolled his eyes. "Warrington, I bet is a _ton of fun_. And you, Pucey… well…" Adrian shoved Marcus aside, huffing like the chick that he was.

Anyway, that conversation led them to _this_ moment! Marcus hadn't the daftest clue how it happened but…

Percy was sat on the living room couch in Adrian's pyjamas, getting ready for his important assessment of his brain.

"I have to read my Geometry textbook after this," Percy told Marcus.

Marcus wondered how much blood he lost if he was making up words. He better keep that away from the muggles!

He could tell that it was Adrian's pyjamas Percy was wearing because nobody else smelled like that floral—not even bloody flower gardens. The smell was so pungent that even Marcus' eyes were watering and Percy said that he hoped that his asthma would get better. _Asthma?_ If Marcus found out that was a crack about how his brain didn't require oxygen to stay alive, he'd kill that bloody Weasley and then fry his big fat head for supper.

"Who gave him _those?"_ Adrian looked irritated. He must miss smelling like something that could potentially choke a florist. Marcus was pretty sure it wasn't like his cock could make a first-year choke. "Those are mine! That's fine silk!"

Percy cocked his head. "Then why is it so uncomfortable?" probably because even Weasley had a dick.

Maybe Adrian gave him the matching knickers that went along with it, Marcus rolled his eyes.

Cassius was standing behind Percy, hovering his wand over him which was glowing all colours of the rainbow. Marcus could only hope that this wasn't Cassius' way of saying that he supported all bent blokes. He could hardly say Adrian was one, given his negative-pressure vagina. Speaking of which, Adrian's nocturnal sobbing ritual, complete with long hours of self-pity, must've kept the Weasley too because he looked knackered.

Amnesiac Percy didn't seem alarmed by the presence of a giant glowing wooden stick over his head. He must be preoccupied with the thoughts of his... peach tart. Which, by the way, must be _bloody_ if Percy ever touched it. Get it?

They were going to assess brain damage! That should be interesting considering that Percy Weasley was gullible enough to believe that Father Christmas was a woman—as if a woman would give away gifts! Especially to another woman that looked better than herself! And eat biscuits and milk at night? What about _her figure?_

"Is this going to hurt?" Percy asked softly. "I'm… I'm in a lot of pain," he rubbed his arm and then flinched.

Marcus wondered if Percy probably took something for that normally. Because he wasn't in pain until _TODAY_ —and it had been a few days! Well, whatever it was he took probably didn't make you drowsier than a first-year in a History of Magic class. Otherwise, he bet that the Ministry people and his family would notice if Percy Weasley acted stoned.

"The drink I gave you will make you fall asleep," Cassius said. "And you won't feel pain for a while."

"Oh?" Percy looked partly delirious from the pain. "I haven't slept in ages," he told Cassius. "There's _so_ much pain."

When Cassius went on to trying to read the different glows of his wand, he looked confused.

"I am in _SO MUCH PAIN!"_ Percy said, able to suddenly fight through the fatigue of the potion. He grabbed fistfuls of his red hair and then sunk into the couch. His body convulsing as he screamed out like a banshee. "You're _hurting me."_

"This is a painless procedure!" Cassius told him. "I promise that—"

Cassius went to grab Percy's arm. You know, for someone that was smart enough to be a healer, his friend could be dumber than… well, a rock, Marcus thought with a smirk. That smirk didn't last long with Percy screaming loud enough to probably make the people in the other flats thinking that he was being tortured.

Percy managed to tug out strands of red hair. His breathing was laboured, and his cheeks red. _"OW!"_

"Maybe it's the best time to tell him that lizard lady with the weird skin is going to be his guardian for when he goes to school," Adrian said, but he himself was pale. What was he getting? _Sympathy_ pains? "Percy…? Hey?"

Percy tore Cassius' wand from him and then threw it away as if it was offending him. "It is not a painless procedure!"

"You just _THINK_ that it hurts! It is most definitely painless!" Cassius grabbed his shoulders. _"Godric, if you don't want to hurt so much then maybe you shouldn't have been fucking slicing words into yourself like the bloody lunatic that you—"_

 _"HEY!"_ Adrian looked at Cassius like he was the one that was crazy. "You're lucky you can't be healer. I wouldn't want a healer that's shaking the crap out of me when I looked like I've been chewed off by a dragon!"

"Help…" Percy whispered, his voice so low that it was almost inaudible. _"I can't SEE!"_

They heard a knock at the door. "Is everything _OKAY_ in there?" a warm, female voice asked. It was a miracle they could hear what they were saying with the sound of Percy screaming like he was under the Cruciatus curse. "I heard _SCREAMING!_ And if nobody opens the door right now, I'm going to be calling the police!"

Percy went silent and limp under Cassius' hold. His eyes blue as ever, as he yawned.

 _"FINALLY!"_ Adrian breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw that Percy was practically sleeping into unconsciousness which reminded Marcus—for blokes that had wands, you'd think they would've stupefied him ages ago when he started screaming like a banshee having an orgasm. "Next time if you want to knock him out, give him some Ministry-regulated sleeping potion! Or take him to one of Professor Binns' two-hour classes!"

"Or Stupefy him," Marcus groaned in irritation. Cassius shook his head, "Affects the assessment spell!" he mentioned.

Even to the other side of the door, Cassius' wand was still flashing pinks and purples and… well, it was still working.

 _"OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW!"_ the woman kept on banging the door. "Or I _SWEAR_ I will call someone!"

Cassius went to pick up his wand from the side of the room, and Adrian sighed and walked towards the door, mumbling _muggles_ under his breath in irritation. Marcus rolled his eyes and picked up Percy to take to his bed because he was probably stinking up his couch by bleeding all over it. Did he open his stitches? Great.

"If he blacks out, will it affect the spell?" Marcus mocked Cassius. Apparently, whatever assessment spell that Cassius used had its full effect as his wand pumped out puffs of pink smoke with details that Cassius was reading.

"This is not good, Marcus," Cassius said, shaking his head. "This is not good _at all!"_

Marcus tried to sling a six-foot-two bloke over his shoulder but dropped him. He was a short bloke, alright? He thought he could carry that thin, freckled redhead. But instead, Percy was now bleeding profusely over his floor because if he didn't have open stitches then, he definitely had them _NOW_. Great! And Adrian was about to open the door to some bloody muggle woman? Marcus was going to send him to the hospital for _DEHYDRATION_ again!

"This isn't that great either!" Marcus replied, staring down at Percy's frame. "Pucey, _DON'T. OPEN. THE DOOR."_

What was a muggle woman going to think seeing Percy bleed everywhere? _We didn't do this, but he did? He's a fucking basket case because I'm not sure that the rumours about the Weasley's being inbred aren't true?_

"Oh," Adrian said, when he'd already opened the door for the muggle woman. "Should I smack the door in her face?"

"Excuse me?" the woman said, huffing at Adrian's body. "What in God's name is _GOING ON IN HERE?_ I heard yelling and—is that man _bleeding?_ Oh my God, someone should call the ambulance! Someone should—"

"Marcus?" Percy looked at him drowsily. He wasn't complaining about the pain. Yeah, take a kip, arsehole. Here they were, probably going to get arrested by muggle Aurors now too because they thought that they were torturing Percy!

Percy's sky-blue eyes turned so glossy they looked clear. _"The Order of the Phoenix…?"_ Marcus was stunned.

 _"What do you know about the Order of the Phoenix?"_ Marcus grabbed Percy's shoulders and started shaking him. Well, he never said he learned from anyone's mistakes. "What do you know about _THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX?"_

Percy stared at him numbly. "What's a phoenix?" he mumbled hazily, and then slipped into unconsciousness.


	9. Pain Makes You Think Funny

_for those of you that are wondering about Audrey, she is supposed to be introduced when Percy goes to muggle school for the first time... which is still a few chapters away. hopefully, the wait wouldn't be too long! at least that's not what i'm hoping for anyway. i have so many plotlines and ideas i just can't keep them straight sometimes. i decided that hopefully i'm going to make this darker and a lot complicated. hopefully, not too complicated... but you never know._

 _next chapter is another Weasley family drama chapter, and then hopefully, after that one, there will be Percy going to muggle school undercover with the rest of those guys... hopefully. and though i haven't written it yet, i am planning on him meeting Audrey. i swear since she's a big part of this story!_

 _i do know that parts of this story is confusing. Marcus does tell Percy some information but since we're through his eyes a lot, we can get a little lost along with Percy._

 _i tried to edit this, but i'm a little tired. i hope there aren't too many spelling / grammar mistakes._

 _ **comment replies:**_

 _ **Eli** : Audrey should be introduced when i get Percy to go to school since she's a student there. so it should still be a few chapters... a little slow. sorry about that._

 _ **Lazy123** : thank you. it's just sometimes i'm not quite sure about where i want the story to head, so that's why i ask my readers. that, and i also feel like they should have a choice if the story is not as advertised... especially when i'm not 100% dedicated to the changes that i wanted to make with that specific plotline. it's just there are so many directions i could take this that it's a little overwhelming!_

 _ **Guest** : it sounds like you and i have similar tastes. i hope that this chapter is to your liking then._

 _ **finkles89** : i honestly had to do that myself and it's my own fanfiction! i'm surprised by how many people are opting for a darker feel to this story... fun!_

 _ **IvyLovesWinchester** : Death-Eaters-to-be! aw. i do love the character building. i still haven't decided what i want Adrian / Cassius to be and i don't want to make too much of a premature decision about it. i have a mini plotline for Adrian, but i'm not sure about it yet. as for dumping his arse in the back alley, i think it's the fear that they'll get discovered if they just let Percy frolic around London unsupervised and being weird because he doesn't know anything about being a muggle. Marcus did explain some of it to a really confused Percy. but it's essentially that Marcus is afraid that people would be looking for them because they're reported as Death Eaters, so consequently, they are lumbered with him because of that Daily Prophet piece!_

 _ **courgette96** : 'hurting so good.' oh dear. it's hard to write this Percy because he's literally so innocent. like he doesn't have a vindictive bone in his body, and i don't think he can hold much of a grudge. and he doesn't understand what's going on at all. their careers as Death Eaters? hmm... we'll get back on that 'short-lived' part of that equation. honestly, i do map out everything before writing but then i spontaneously decide to go a certain way... like for example, the Death Wears Second-Hand Robes, i've mapped out like 7-8 potential story arcs and they were all disrupted because of a split second decision i made! ouch!_

 _ **Phoenixx Rising:** i love Marcus. he's one of my favourites to write because i always like his brash-like personality, but i think he has a soft part to him... maybe i'm just sympathetic towards really unlikeable characters that most people don't pay attention to! as for Adrian and Cassius, i'm still not determined about either of them or their plotlines!_

* * *

 **Muggle Me**

Chapter Nine: Pain Makes You Think Funny

* * *

Percy the amnesiac, ironically, had no memory of any phoenixes or wands. As far as he knew, he had been in so much pain that night that he woke up hooked to an IV line in the hospital. His nurses' favourite activities were to gossip about a nurse called Janine, who liked to spend her time _examining orifices_. Percy did not know much about nursing, but he supposed examining orifices was part of their job. Which was why kindly asked honey-haired Janine to do a throat exam on him because he was afraid that there might be some white things there.

 _Strep_ infections did that, right? Percy read about Strep throat in one of his books that he had to know for his exam.

"Thank you," Percy said when Janine gave him a cup of tea for his non-white-coated throat. They were alone, and Percy decided to say that, "The other nurses are talking about you."

Janine shot a look at the other nurses in the corner, avidly talking. "Yes, well…it doesn't bother me much."

"I think that you are an absolute delight," Percy immediately said, even though he didn't really know. He'd known this woman for all of two minutes but felt an innate drive to defend her because she told him that he didn't have a life-threatening case of tonsillitis. "Perhaps, they are not very good at examining orifices themselves."

"Um…" Janine went red. "Do you want more sugar?" she asked, looking like she wanted to throw the tea at him.

Percy didn't know why Janine didn't look ecstatic about his compliment. If she had that tea-throwing-look, then maybe the other nurses were right. "Two lumps of sugar," Percy replied, and her eyes bulged when he said that.

"Lumps of…?" Janine repeated, like it was shocking that he said that. "I'm not an _afternoon_ _delight,_ you know!"

Were two lumps of sugar really _that_ excessive? Maybe Percy was a diabetic and he didn't know.

"I… I would like some more cream too," Percy added on when she dropped in two lumps of sugar. "Um…"

The nurses were laughing like there was a secret meaning behind two lumps of sugar and a little cream! What was wrong with a nice serving of hot, white cream to warm the soul? Percy rolled his eyes.

Janine walked away from him, huffing like he just asked her to strip down in the nude and dance whilst he was having a cup of tea. Percy did not understand this, but the bloke that was in the bed beside him was laughing too. Percy shuddered into his hospital bed. He was ill. He did not understand why asking for sugar and cream made him a criminal. It was awfully cold in this room. It was a miracle that he could still feel his pelvis with how cold he was.

Maybe he should tell the other nurses about his numb pelvis! Maybe they could examine _that_ too!

Marcus visited him for about ten minutes. He seemed to have popped out of nowhere and smelled like something that had died out into the streets—which was disgusting. Percy hoped that he didn't kill anyone because killing people was _gross_ … and very wrong. Percy felt the need to wash his hands just thinking about the dirty, congealed blood.

"They're going to ask you questions," Marcus told Percy, who nodded his head.

"Yes, that's what they do in hospitals you know," Percy replied. "It's how they find out what's wrong with you."

" _Ha ha,_ very funny," Marcus rolled his eyes, pointing to Percy's body—Cassius' oversized jacket was covering the slashes and ribbons of blood that Percy had. He supposed that the pain got worse after he decided to start cleaning his hands—you know, because of the thoughts in his mind. They wouldn't go away if he didn't wash his hands.

"You better have studied that file that I gave you to what to say to the _mug_ —people," Marcus said, producing Percy's distressed manila envelope from the pockets of his black frock. Why was Marcus wearing a frock? Come to think of it, those people at that shop selling the chicken feather quills were wearing black and grey frocks too. "Because it's a tad unreadable now." Percy did not know why Marcus was walking around with his files, or why they looked like the files needed to be in the emergency room more than Percy did right now. The state of them! A _tad_ unreadable?

Marcus then explained why he had the files in his pockets. "Our flat got burned down by… people _with abilities_."

Now, Percy understood why Marcus was covered in soot. Oh! There was a fire at the flat, and fortunately, Percy had been in so much pain from his bear attack wounds that he wasn't there to die in a tragic fire. Incredible!

"Is everyone okay?" Percy asked in a soft voice. Marcus just stared at him like it was impossible to die from fire.

"If psychological trauma doesn't count, then everyone's bloody fine," Marcus said. "I have to go now, but you tell these—these _mug_ … these people the information in the file. I hope you have a bloody great memory because you can't exactly freshen up your knowledge." When he said that, Marcus looked like he was mentally cursing himself.

"I don't have a great memory," Percy said. "I _LOST_ all my memories… _REMEMBER?"_ he inquired—ironically.

Percy now understood what these people were abilities were. They were _ABLE_ to burn down their flat without much effort at all. Did you know how hard it was to start a fire without a whole building noticing? Now, they were all homeless, and Percy wasn't sure where he was supposed to get a baked beans tin from to ask blokes for money!

"Do you remember why the file was important?" Marcus suddenly asked, darting his steel grey eyes around hurriedly.

"Because I am nobody, I have a new identity?" Percy perked up. Before he could answer, Marcus just left. He heard a _pop_ , and Percy felt even more confused than ever. _Not knowing_ was leaving him feeling very uncomfortable.

Percy shifted into his bed. He was sure that Adrian and Cassius were devastated that they'd lost their flat!

He felt nothing. It was like he was completely detached from the flat. He was a little worried about Barry. He didn't care at all about how Adrian, Cassius or Marcus were doing. He didn't think about the other people that were in the flat that might've gotten harmed. He had an uproar over quills but couldn't muster up even the least amount of emotion for these people because of the pain of his infected wounds. He felt uncomfortable with his own emotions. Most people _cared_ if your flat burned down with your flatmates in it… right? But all that Percy could feel was _pain_.

Why did he also feel so _betrayed?_ It wasn't like Marcus did this to him. It wasn't like Marcus did this to him, and then never told him. How could anyone take his memories? Percy must've bumped his head against something hard—maybe that hard thing was Marcus Flint's head. Get it? Flint? _STONE?_ And that was why Percy felt this way. Maybe that was why Marcus made him _not_ homeless, and told him that he was going to go to school soon…

Later on, the 'doctor' came round to ask him a lot of hard questions such as _What is your name?_ and _How old are you?_

Remembering the information in the files that Marcus told him to memorise, Percy was able to pass his first exam.

"My name is Clement Charlie Jones," Percy said with little emotion to his voice. "I'm seventeen years old."

Clement had just moved here from Devon where he was home-schooled. A week from now, he had an exam to take that he was studying hard for. He had no living relatives that he knew of anymore. His mum was a kind woman, but she died of breast cancer last year and since then, he'd been living with his older brother, Huck (Huck was Adrian's fake name) and his guardian, Artemis Chambers—which was Carrow in real life. He liked debates, books, polishing badges and washing his hands fifty times a day. To be honest, this Clement bloke sounded like a boring wanker.

"How did you get your wounds?" the doctor asked. "And where are they exactly?"

"Everywhere," Percy replied softly. "They are from a bear attack. I lived in a farm in Devon. I have a friend that is training to be a doctor, and he tried to help. But I… must've passed out from the pain. And the stitches open up."

Percy cleared his throat. "I also think I might have offended one of the nurses here named Janine."

"I'm sure you didn't," the doctor replied automatically. His name was Dr Jonah Michaels Percy now saw on his hospital name-tag, and he felt a little bit more comfortable. "When did this bear attack happen?"

Dr Michaels accepted everything that Percy said. He asked about what happened before the bear attack—if he felt any different or unwell before the attack. He asked about what he remembered when the bear attack, and what happened afterwards. He asked if he lost any feeling or weakness in any of his limbs and why he didn't seek any medical help any sooner. Percy decided this was too many questions and replied with…

"I don't remember," was Percy's response to most of them. "I'm sorry," was shortly followed after. Neither were lies.

Feeling the itch to clean his hands with all the lies that he'd been sprouted, Percy wondered if he'd managed to wash all of his memories away with hydrogen peroxide.

Percy washed his hands a lot, but he didn't know why. If he didn't wash his hands eighteen times when he went to use the lavatory or after he ate, something _BAD_ would happen. The thoughts of the people that he loved being hurt because he didn't wash his hands plagued his mind often. Whenever the thoughts came, they'd go away if Percy just washed his hands. When he washed his hands, everything was fine, and he felt less dirty and defiled on the inside.

Even when his skin was bleeding and the gashes were opening up, Percy _still_ had to wash his hands.

The thoughts didn't make much sense because Percy didn't really love anyone! He couldn't remember anyone that he might've _loved_ … So why did he care if they died a fiery death? Pun completely unintended given the burning flat… but really, it wasn't like he cared much knowing how his flat mates had to suffer a fire when Percy was sat here in the hospital. And it wasn't like washing his hands eighteen times a day prevented that from happening. But… but thinking about why he washed his hands made him want to wash his hands _NOW_ as he was talking to the doctor.

Even though he knew that it wouldn't cure his amnesia or help save a child in Ghana, all he could think about was how he needed to wash his hands—as badly as he needed to breathe. And how _anxious_ he felt sat there, thinking.

Percy's hands were shaking. He excused himself to go to the bathroom and came back with blistered hands.

When he came back, the doctor asked if he could examine him. Percy stiffened and shook his head.

"No," he said, thinking of all the gashes that he'd been trying to run away from. When Percy first took off his clothes and noticed his body marred and soiled in red, he felt ashamed. But why would he feel ashamed about being attacked?

 _You know it isn't a bear attack,_ a part of him said. Maybe Percy didn't care about Adrian, Cassius or Marcus because he knew that they were lying to him, but he didn't know how to find out the truth. _What bear could write GIT in cursive?_

"It's alright," Dr Michaels said, trying to cajole him. "It'll help me find out how to help you if I know the problem."

Percy stiffened even more. "No," he repeated, even weaker than before. "Please don't."

He felt uncomfortable in this hospital bed, thinking about Janine's reaction to his tea. He didn't really even enjoy his tea that much, but suddenly, he was thirsty again. But he didn't want to ask for another cup. And he most definitely did not want the doctor to see him. He looked like a badly stitched frock that a thirteen-year-old made for her formal!

"It'll really help us if we can see the problem," Dr Michaels sounded distressed, but Percy continued to shake his head. "We'd need to see it anyway to see how your friend helped with your dressings. And if there's anything we can do."

"I want to _go home_ ," Percy said weakly. He didn't even mean their flat—which had burned down. "Leave me alone!"

"It'll really help, love," one of the nurses that was making fun of Janine told him. She sounded like something that was dipped in honey and sugar. As sweet as pie. "Really. It won't take much. And we've seen a lot—we promise that we won't judge. How could you expect the doctor to help you if he doesn't know what the problem is?"

She talked to him like he was eight and didn't understand English. Percy just sank into his hospital bed.

A few minutes later, Janine came back with her pot of tea and fixed him a cup like he'd wanted it before.

"It'll help calm you down," Janine said, and Percy wondered if the doctor thought that Janine would be able to butter him up. With so much butter and sugar, this felt more like a bloody tea party than it did a trip to the A&E.

When he didn't take the cup, Janine put the tea down next to him on the table.

Percy suddenly felt very alone and afraid. He didn't know if he was sixteen or seventeen or thirty years old and just happened to look young for his age. He just felt like he wished he had someone there that was like a mum. Janine was very maternal-looking, with soft belly and hips and long, chestnut brown hair with streaks of blonde.

"Thank you," Percy said weakly, but he didn't feel very thankful.

"We have contacted your legal guardian," Janine said. Percy didn't know why they'd let that slithering snake into the hospital emergency room. She had more bumps and lumps in her skin than a chocolate-chip biscuit. A wasted woman named Alecto Carrow, hidden by her new alias as Artemis Chambers—apparently, the wonderful woman that Percy met with the undeniably _exotic_ skin—was named his legal guardian. _And_ had stolen the name of a wonderful woman in Greek mythology. "But it's better if you let the doctor have a look at you himself right now, Mr Jones."

Percy just looked away from her. "If I'm a _Mr_ Jones, I'm not sure why you have to contact _my legal guardian_."

He didn't say much else, and he didn't drink his tea. Even though he really wanted to, and it was getting cold.

"I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable," Percy finally said, not trusting the doctor that called the personification of hormonal teenage acne to come by. Even with his bleeding infected gashes that smelled as purulent as ever—and made him feel dirty and contaminated. Oh, and he supposed that the infection could spread and kill him too. "I won't ask for anymore sugar or cream. I didn't know it was rude," he was honest at least.

Janine looked at him with soft eyes. "Your tea is getting cold," she said.

Percy took a sip and was relieved that he hadn't been poisoned. "Thank you," he said again. Every time he said the word, it had lost even more meaning than before. "But I'm not going to show the doctor my… my problem."

He had more gashes than most victims in the horror film he'd watched last night. He didn't want to show anyone.

"What are you afraid of?" Janine asked, but he wasn't sure she'd understand if she got offended by sugar in tea.

 _My bear attack is not really a bear attack,_ Percy thought to himself. _Marcus' flat burned down, and nobody ate my peach tart._

The doctor came back a few minutes later, holding his chart in his hands. Apparently, Percy was very anaemic—enough to make the doctor think that he needed a blood transfusion. Percy wondered why they took blood from him if he was very anaemic. He had told the doctor that he'd been bleeding too! Percy felt cross but kept it to himself.

"It hurts," Percy cut him off when he was telling him about his blood transfusion. "Please."

"I can't do anything about that until I see the problem," Dr Michaels said. "I know that you don't want to—"

"He doesn't want to—" Janine was cut off when Percy practically ripped his jacket open because of how much it hurt.

He remembered Marcus telling him not to show anyone, but he didn't know what else to do because the pain was searing, white hot lava that was burning his skin. When he had his jacket off, the doctor's face contorted a little bit. Percy took off his bloodied pyjama top too, and felt the exposed, blood-stained skin underneath breathe into the cold hospital room. Dr Michaels walked to his right side and looked at the purulent discharge erupting from the awful stitches that had come apart. They stopped bleeding ages ago but the sour-smell coming from them was watering Percy's eyes. His partially open skin was rubbing against the inside of his cotton jumper.

Dr Michaels then tried to compose himself. "Janine," he said to the nurse, "I need gloves."

Percy tried to bite his lip when the doctor tried to prod at the site. "No, no," he said weakly. "It hurts."

The next hour was torturous. They drained the pus away to send it off the laboratory, and then they tried to stitch him back up. The doctor mentioned that he might need a skin graft because his wounds were very extensive. Most of them were open wounds that couldn't be stitched up because there wasn't enough skin between them.

Percy didn't remember much of the conversation. He was sure he almost punched Janine, which made it assault. Almost. He could've done it!

He hated himself, and he just didn't feel very keen about what happened today. He hadn't felt this bad all at once, and he wasn't sure if there was anything that could make him feel any better. They were waiting to get him a bed because they were going to take him up to the ward, and they were going to talk about his treatment options.

The doctor was convinced that it hurt so much that he gave him morphine. Percy didn't know what that was but within a few minutes of him being given that, he was feeling exhausted. By the time that Carrow came around, he was already barely listening to the conversation. Dr Michaels asked his guardian about his _mental status_.

"It's not my fault!" Carrow told Dr Michaels. "I can't stop him from thinking that he's a terrible person. I can't be around him twenty-four seven to make sure he doesn't try and hurt himself."

The doctors looked at him like he was mental after that. Janine didn't want to talk to him.

Percy didn't feel very good. Like things changed when people realised you carved your skin inside out and then went off to try and clean off your hands ten times a day. When a thought came to his mind that he wanted to hurt himself to distract himself from feeling so dirty, Percy knew that it was _him_. It was _his_ fault that he looked like this.

No amount of tea seemed to calm him down. Percy wondered if Norma was okay sometimes.

He didn't think of hundreds of people living in that flat, or the people that took care of him for a month. It hurt him to think what Marcus told him about his cuts—that nobody wanted to see it. That he should hide it away forever. He felt an unfathomable, heavy pain in his chest. Even with the antiemetic, Percy felt nauseated the second that he woke up.

 _You did this to yourself,_ Percy finally came to terms with. _You hate yourself enough to turn yourself into a real-life Eton Mess!_ He shuddered, because he didn't want to think about all the horrible things that he could've done that made him hate himself enough to try to split himself into halves. Thinking about it made him want to clean himself inside out.

When thoughts of dawning down bottles of chlorhexidine came to mind, Percy asked for more morphine.


	10. Another Chapter Where Rain Is Mentioned

_i cannot explain how annoyed i was and how much i didn't want to update because the chapter i wrote for this originally got deleted! so i had to re-write it. that's why there is no Burrow chapter here. just another one... though apparently the deleted chapter was a blessing because now, i have a completely different direction i might want to take this fanfiction, eschewing all the possible Order related nonsense that's given me a headache!_

 _this is so intense to write. i think hopefully afterwards, i'm doing a Burrow-related chapter, or one finally introducing Audrey since they're supposed to meet at the school._

 _ **comment replies:**_

 _ **finkles89:** who burned down the flat is discussed in this chapter. i am super considering some flashback scenes to WHY Percy developed these... but i'm also seriously considering the Burrow digging deep into his background and finding out for themselves... since i don't want this to be one of those plotlines where Percy suddenly remembers everything. at least that's not how i'm planning it!_

 _ **Phoenixx Rising** : as i'm trying to sort of go with an angle that memory charms could cause brain injury (magical and non-medical and non-muggle-like so that i don't have to be too strict on the symptomology), it does make sense. as in normal life, patients with traumatic brain injuries can develop / worsen their mental disorders... i am sort of angling on frontal lobe damage. but Percy doesn't exhibit 100% frontal lobe damage symptoms either. the huge gullibility thing that he has is 100% made up and i don't wanna be angling about what cortex / Broadmann area has been involved!_

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Ten: Another Chapter Where Rain Is Mentioned

* * *

"Top marks for Marcus and his wonderful ability to perform a memory charm," Cassius Warrington tossed a look over at Percy's sleeping form, long limbs trapped around thin blankets as he snoozed like a fat bastard that was choking on his tongue. "He managed to damage a brain that got 12 O.W.L's! Now, it's been turned into the brain of a bloke that has been hit by _12 Bludgers instead_. Well done, Marcus. You have also managed to produce the most gullible wizard on Earth."

Adrian was just staring at him like Cassius' existence was a joke in a house-elf's tea cosy. Whatever that meant.

 _"Soooooo,"_ Adrian rolled his red-rimmed eyes. They had to sleep in the hospital and there was no way that Adrian was going to let his hair get exposed to the amount of dirt in hospital pillows. "You're saying that this is _BAD?_ That he's _gullible?_ Because I truly wish that he would question what we were doing. It is killing me on the inside that he has _no clue_."

Percy was snoozing away on the bed. Marcus looked like he was hoping the weasel would just stop breathing.

"He mentioned the Order of the Phoenix!" Marcus reminded them. "That means he must remember _something_ no matter how much I've mucked with his head. Now, The Dark Bastard sent Alecto fucking Carrow to muck about with whatever's left of his brain that hasn't been fried by his own mental… _ness_. All because the twat named Pucey couldn't keep his mouth shut for longer than three ruddy seconds. He just had to say that the bloke _I_ put a memory charm on not only seems to know about the Order of the Phoenix, but also butchers himself half to death because his feelings were hurt!"

Cassius tossed a look over at Percy. He was knocked out from pain killers that the muggle doctors put him on.

"Does anyone find it strange how he just started complaining about it?" Adrian asked. "He's been with us for _a week."_

Marcus just shrugged. "I assume that our resident Gives Head Boy had previously been using some powerful or illegal pain potions to get him through the day after he did his daily duty of deploying half his blood volume in the sink."

Cassius shuddered. "How could you cut yourself _THAT_ deeply when you live in a house of eight fucking people?"

Adrian just shrugged. "There's only eight of them?" Cassius was surprised when he crunched the numbers too, but he was sure there was only eight of them not counting the self-harming prefect that was _never perfect enough_. Aw. "I'm not sure what he does when his mum calls him down for dinner and he's already slashed his leg so far in he could see bone."

Marcus looked bored. "He could say it was a homeopathic treatment for being the biggest twat ever to exist."

Cassius wondered if his girlfriend ever saw him like this. He also wondered how could someone that was so bent on being clean be also so paradoxically interested in cutting himself to the point where he was practically inviting bacteria over for a kegger. Percy's wounds drained so much white gunk it was astounding that he hadn't clogged the drain yet with his lumps of anaerobic snow. It smelled like something died in this room. Yet Mr Cleaner-Than-A-Scouring-Charm washed his hands until they were blistering and didn't seem as bothered by his dirty, disgusting wounds. How did _that_ make any sense?

"I'm more interested in the pain potion that made him unable to feel any of _THAT_ for a week," Adrian said.

"The muggle surgeon here said they want to give him a skin graft," Cassius said. He'd been reading about that. As disturbing as it sounded like, he was pretty sure Gives Head Boy actually had more gaping wound than skin. How he worked himself to the point of exhaustion every day _and_ still had time rip apart his delicate soft skin and indulge in his obsessive-compulsive habits was anyone's guess. "Carrow's been bitching since the Aurors found out about our flat and Flint over here used the wrong incantation when we were fighting them. How do you _NOT_ know a fire-making spell from a stunner? Meanwhile, Amnesiac Skeeter over here that can't keep his mouth shut is more emotional about his peach tarts than he is about the fact that a _whole building_ _caught fire_. Marcus… I _REALLY_ love how you've managed to muck up his ability to express and comprehend emotions like a normal human being _WHILST_ somehow making him more mental!"

Marcus just laughed. _"More mental?"_ he gestured pulled up to the wounds on Percy's skin. Cassius had seen shallower lakes. "Any more mental and he'll be telling us that Merlin himself told him that he was a part of Potter's legacy!"

Point taken. But Cassius also knew that with a spell-induced brain injury could probably worsen whatever he led him to try and cut out lumps of his skin like he was removing a cancer from his body. How eerie was _that?_

"The weasel bait doesn't want a skin graft," Adrian said. "According to the papers, Clement is seventeen. The age of consent in the UK in general is sixteen. But considering he has more blood in his house's plumbing than he does in his body and he's about as mentally stable as Celestina Warbeck after her divorce, I think the muggle doctors are going with Carrow's advice. But _Carrow_ can't force the-bloke-that-was-bludgoned-12-times to do something he doesn't want and then expect him to submit to _The Dark Lord_. She's going to melt like margarine and discharge him to get on his good side."

"I think he cut out his good side," Marcus snorted, rolling his eyes.

Cassius tried to imagine the Weasley working in the Ministry now. He had a backbone of a stuffed Kneazle.

 _So, I've been terminated?_ He could envision Percy saying after he'd slaved day and night for them. _Oh… can I keep the curtains?_

He'd been called their robes _curtains_ every time he'd been seeing them. He thought that _THEY_ were the eccentric ones!

Cassius just sighed deeply. They were in so much trouble. Right now, they were sleeping in the hospital—or well, Cassius was sleeping in the hospital. Adrian refused because he didn't want to get oil clogged up in his hair, so he hadn't slept in the last forty-eight hours, but claimed to be _fine_ and _not a twat_. A bleary-eyed Marcus looked like he wanted to murder the Weasley for putting them into this kerfuffle—as if they would be in it if Marcus actually studied for his exams.

 _It was CARROW that was surprised that Arthur Weasley was out with a smoke_ , Marcus reminded them. _I was following orders._

To which Adrian replied, _so, we were supposed to assume that the bloke that has the responsibility of staring at reports all day long needed a smoke in muggle London more badly than the bloke that has seven children and a never-ending debt to society?_

Of note, why would someone with debilitating obsessive-compulsive behaviour be fine with dirtying their lungs with smoke?!

Cassius just rolled his eyes. He also thought that the lack of receding hairline and the fact that Percy was nineteen should've been the clue and not the fact whether or not he was smoking a fag in a sewer-smelling street in the middle of London. They were acting like the only people that smoked fags were ones that were dying of irrefutable spell damage.

 _Didn't you burn down our FLAT?_ Cassius retorted. _I hardly think should be defending yourself, Marcus! Who gave you your wand?!_

Right now, they were heavily followed by Aurors and needed to change their appearances soon in accordance to their files. Being caught in a muggle hospital with a Weasley that looked like he was split open by an axe was hard to explain.

They hadn't thus far because Bole had changed Marcus into a woman. He'd been waiting for new identification.

But now, Bole refused to change Marcus' identity, so he should deal with it. Considering how much of a raging hormonal cunt that Marcus was and the fact that he ruined all of their lives, he supposed this was a good consolation.

 _Can't wait to see you try to find breasts,_ Adrian told Marcus. _Should I suggest boulders to go along with your complexion?_

 _Not all women have breasts_ , was Marcus' retort last night, as he sat there sulking. _Just look at your mum!_

If Aurors got a hold of Copperlocks (yes, Cassius read about Goldilocks and her Marcus Flint-sized head), then Cassius didn't know what would prevent Percy from saying some really revealing crap about them. Considering he was _so gullible_. Percy saw their doctored files, notes, and eavesdropping on how much of their conversations? At least he didn't seem like he had the mental capacity to cohere any of this into a cohesive thought process like _maybe these people aren't good?_ His frontal lobe was hit by twelve Bludgers. He had complete unawareness of what was going on and no interest to find out.

Percy was perfectly content just believing what he was being told. There were _first years_ that would be more distressed.

His biggest hang-up was nobody told him that he self-harmed. _How dare you tell me that a bear wrote words into my skin?_

Percy had the emotional reactivity of a Puffskein being tossed to a wall. He didn't care about the lives of the people that might've been harmed when their flat burned down but seemed extremely sad about the slag nurse Janine that was having it off with the surgeon that wanted to skin-graft him? How in Merlin's name did _THAT_ make any sense?

His frontal lobe, which sustained as much injury as a bloke that had spent his whole life believing _The Daily Prophe_ t, apparently wasn't completely damaged. He could still produce speech. But his emotion and behavioural centres registered on his wand as lit up more than a Christmas tree. Currently, he was hysterical because he wasn't allowed to wash his hands to the point where the soap peeled away his skin and cleaned his dirty bones and ligamentous tissue. Wonderful.

An hour later, Percy woke up and immediately went off to the bathroom to _exorcise his demons_. When he returned with a nurse who was holding his IV (ha, muggles were cute), Percy was holding a packet of crisps in his red, swollen hands.

Percy got back into his bed, wincing from the pain. He sat leg-crossed on his bed, and then opened up his crisps packet.

"Can you three do _anything_ without being incompetent?" Carrow walked in, fuming. Even _she_ didn't care how much of this conversation Percy absorbed considering he couldn't make the connection that they were the bad people. Well, unless someone, i.e. Marcus, told him that they were. "Thus far, all you've managed to do is burn your flat down after exposing yourselves to the wizarding world in Diagon Alley. _Well done!_ I'd bet the Dark Lord would have you all euthanised as punishment because the serious backlash with the Ministry Aurors now that you've opened up a case! But… fortunately for you, Lucius says The Dark Lord wants to know how much _this thing_ knows about the Order of the Phoenix."

" _IF_ there's a traitor amongst Death Eaters that has been reporting to the Order of the Phoenix like the Dark Lord thinks that there is, then isn't it stupid for us just to let everyone know the location of the weasel?" Adrian asked.

"I don't want to be fighting off Aurors every time we move," Cassius agreed.

Carrow rolled her eyes. "You're trying to imply that the Dark Lord isn't aware of what a bunch of Hogwarts washouts would be concerned about? You insult him _AND_ your cause!" she huffed, as if Cassius hadn't been in a very intensive St Mungo's program. Alright, she understood her calling Adrian, the Primpernelle advocate, and Marcus, the bloke that couldn't tell an _Incendio_ from a _Stupefy_ , washouts, but Cassius Warrington was not a washout. He was about to be a medical healer. "How _DARE_ you!"

His cause was not to get maimed in the war. That was why they had to join in the Death Eater circle, and she knew that.

Cassius cleared his throat. "Well, _not_ to insult _our Lord_ ," he stressed, "but he _did_ get defeated by an infant."

 _"INSOLENT FOOL!"_ Carrow waved her emaciated fist in the air. "You _WILL_ pay for that… I will see to it _myself!"_

"Just make sure that _THEY_ pay for it," Marcus reminded her. "Because I didn't say anything." Arsehole.

They were about to get tortured no matter what they said, so they might as well make their distaste of being in the Death Eater circle apparent. Every day Cassius went to sleep, he hated himself even more than the last time. He tried not to think about the life that he had prior to this… unfortunate incident. He had his mum back home practically waiting for him to come back at three in the afternoon every day to make sure that she didn't die. She had to have her peritoneal dialysis done overnight and other times, ten to fifteen minutes every few hours. And Godric knew if she could even recognise her own insulin wand considering Cassius had been adjusting her dose for the last five years! He'd been letting Peregrine Derrick, the stupid twat that couldn't recognise a Bludger if it was hurling to him, do that for him instead. Perfect!

"Lucius proposes that the best solution is for you to be all shipped off to a muggle boarding school with _me_ as your supervisor—keeping in mind that we are probing the weasel for information," Carrow explained, looking over at Percy who was eating crisps and not listening. "About the Order because he obviously remembers _something_."

Lucius Malfoy looked like he was having a kick of giving Carrow irrelevant tasks. Rubbish! _BOARDING SCHOOL?_ There was a war happening before their eyes! What in Merlin's name would they accomplish in a muggle boarding school?

"School _again?"_ Marcus was obviously not following on with this. "And what about what we heard about Snape launching an investigation in the Weasley household whilst he's sat there pretending to be part of the Order of the Phoenix…? What is it that the Weasley can tell our Dark Lord that Snape doesn't already _KNOW?"_

"We don _'t_ know!" Carrow said, as if she was actually still part of the higher circles. Yeah right. "Either way, _YOUR_ job is to make sure that the Aurors don't catch a hold of the Ministry bloke that sustained brain damage. Right now, we're trying to make it seem like the photos at Diagon Alley are not real. We already have people in the Ministry covering this up! It's hard to do that if this brain-damaged fool ends up walking into Fudge's office! Especially when apparently, he _might_ know something about the Order of the Phoenix—something we might not already know. We don't need the Aurors to launch an even more comprehensive investigation on what happened to a precious Weasley that lost all his memories. Putting him under the Imperius is useless considering half the fucking country is looking to put him in Azkaban…"

Cassius had been wondering about this. "Can't we just Obliviate him again and leave him here?"

"When he has possible information about The Order?" Carrow asked him with a raised eyebrow.

Cassius felt like they were running around in circles. They had _SNAPE_ infiltrating the Order… _SPYING FOR THEM_.

Why did the Dark Lord care about what some self-mutilating brain-damaged amnesiac thought about the Order of the Phoenix? Did he think that there was some ominous part of Percy, beyond the need to clean his hands a million times a day, that knew _important information?_ This was a real fucking joke. Cassius didn't even know why they were trying to follow around Arthur Weasley in the first place. If he really was in the Order of the Phoenix like it was rumoured, do you think he'd give up the information they needed? Did they think that by sheer torture, they'd manage to get him to spill Harry Potter's favourite pudding? Did the Dark Lord want to poison Harry Potter with a treacle tart and call it a day?

The second that Carrow left, Cassius was just sitting there, seething. He hated trying to make sense of what was happening. Maybe Percy really was the genius here. He might as well be comatose even when he was listening in on them. What was the point of trying to Obliviate _that_ again? Besides making him incontinent.

"We aren't getting any answers," Adrian said from where he was sat. He looked back at Percy, who was scoffing crisps.

Percy just stared at them. They were lumbered with a bloke with the mentality of an intellectually disabled first year!

It wasn't until a day after that they'd managed the surgeon that Percy didn't need any skin grafts. The surgeon was appalled, saying that his skin wounds were seriously infected and contaminated, and he might need to be put in the ICU if his condition deteriorated. _He sees me?_ Marcus reiterated as Cassius palmed his forehead in distress. But considering he'd been stable for all of the two days that he'd been in the ward, they'd allowed Carrow to sign an AMA even after being debriefed at least ten times over the past few hours. They had no grounds to believe that Percy was being abused either. Cassius knew that they couldn't stay there indefinitely. Especially when there was a chance that an Aurors might show up in a hospital at any point in time.

Besides, Adrian was sick of wearing all these gowns when he was sure that Percy was not going to transmit his isolated skin infection over to him. These muggle hospitals were so bloody extra… Cassius didn't know how Percy's pus-ridden wounds were supposed to infect him if he was just sitting in the same room as the bloke! It was like imagining than his Lucian's STD was going to penetrate him just by the bastard looking at him from across the room!

Speaking of infections, did you know that Bole was having a right laugh when he made up their identities? He turned them into the opposite of what they were. Adrian's profile depicted him as a Whomping Willow hugging hippie for one!

Soon after Percy's discharge, they bought a new flat in the middle of nowhere that probably wouldn't be burned down in the next 24 hours. They spent their Saturday morning trying to do their official makeovers as per their identification papers that had been forged by that Lucian. He should've been a portrait artist with how creative he was! Apparently, Cassius' hobbies included competitive swimming—when Lucian knew that Cassius couldn't swim! Long story short—by the end of their impromptu makeover, they'd abused forty-five of Adrian's Madam Primpernelle products. They look like Rhythmic Runes rejects, which was hilarious considering that Rhythmic Runes were just Weird Sisters' rejects to begin with!

"I like this," Percy had said on that day, picking up a boring brown from the adventurous shades they bought.

 _"I DON'T!"_ Adrian walked out of the bathroom, his hair now egg-yolk yellow. At least he was unrecognisable, right?

Cassius laughed, but he did not particularly look like he wanted to say goodbye to his natural golden locks yet.

Marcus was trying to strap on a bra whilst huffing and puffing just in case someone forgot just how much testosterone he had. He'd stuffed his bra on with tissue paper, and still, he had bigger knockers than Adrian's girlfriend.

"Great," Marcus collapsed on the bed. "His name should be Lucian _BOIL_ because he's an abscess in the face of humanity."

Cassius was surprised Marcus knew the world abscess. "Are you feeling self-conscious?" he mocked. "You're beautiful."

" _SHUT UP_ , Warrington!" Marcus replied almost immediately. He was in a pair of pink-purple shorts. He was an even uglier girl. His cheeks were so puffy, and his shoulders and thighs rounded, and hulking compared to how thin the rest of him was. Cassius sometimes wondered if he was really a woman. "Pucey needs the attention more than I do."

Adrian tossed a pillow over at Marcus. "At least _I'd_ make a gorgeous woman, fat arse." His cheeks were red, and his hair was the colour of sunshine. Aw. As long as Adrian laid off the black, he could continue his new life now as another loser!

"You never question a woman's weight, Adrian," Cassius said seriously. He had used some of the nose-lengthening cream.

Adrian cocked his head to one side. His long hair had been practically shaved off. "Can we just kill him?"

He looked over at Percy, who was trying to find out what colour he wanted for his hair. He didn't seem to care that there was a possibility of them conspiring to kill him and then be on the run from the Death Eaters too.

"Or Obliviate him again," Marcus smirked at the thought. Cassius just shuddered. "He can't get any worse!"

"Mouldy Shorts wants him alive," Adrian said, rolling his dark eyes which clashed with his custard cream hair. "Because he has important information about _The Order of the Phoenix_. Information that his spy, Severus Snape, couldn't give them obviously—because what's the point of having a Death Eater posing to be as part of The Order when you have a bloke that enjoys washing his hands up to the point when they'd blister? Don't you see that he'll help us _win the war?!"_

Percy was stacking boxes mindlessly. Every time the boxes tumbled down, he stacked them back up.

"How are we supposed to prove that he's probably been in so much pain he's just reiterated what we probably were already talking about?" Marcus mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. The stuffing of his bra was coming off. Cassius made a mental note not to tell Marcus to stuff the turkey for Christmas this year. "I hardly doubt he knows anything about The Order of the bloody Phoenix. I'd be surprised if he knows who Goldie Warts is."

Adrian just shrugged. "Even if we did rid of the aspiring autistic, we can't exactly go back to the wizarding world."

"He's not an aspiring autistic," Cassius felt the need to correct. "It's a preservation sequence—which brain-damaged people do. He also has been writing the same sentence on all his books for the past few weeks if you haven't noticed."

"What sentence?" Adrian suddenly just stared at him. Cassius realised he probably should've said something.

Cassius just shrugged. "Um…well, it was more of an address?" he rubbed his neck. "It's not important. It's the Burrow's address. I've already looked it up. I don't think that there's anything in a houseful of weasels and we can't really 'investigate' either way."

Marcus looked like he was deep in thought. "He's so bloody gullible," Marcus pointed out. "Can't we just use him as a double agent to spy on the Weasley's if the Dark Lord wants to know so much about what Arthur Weasley's doing?"

"You want to give the Weasley The Dark Mark?" Adrian scoffed. "That's… well…"

"No, you buffoon," Marcus rolled his eyes. "We don't give him a Dark Mark. He goes back to the Burrow to spy for the Death Eaters since his unfiltered arse would just spew everything he knows about the activities of Harry Potter."

Cassius looked over at Percy, who seemed deep in thought about his hair dye. "You think _THAT'S_ a spy?" he asked seriously. "He's not even listening to _US_ talking! He's too busy wondering what bloody colour he wants for his hair!"

After the make-over saga, they had to take entrance exams for muggle boarding schools.

"I wanted to escape to the muggle world, not sit here doing Death Eater rubbish," Marcus said after filling out the sixth application. He sighed deeply. "I thought this bollocks was over. What does he want with us? We're incompetent."

You'd think they'd just get into schools that easy? Just a few entrance exams and a makeover, right?

Ironically, the bloke that had twelve O.W. L's, kept on failing his entrance exams, even though _HE_ was the one that studied for it. Beside sciences, he seemed to have absolutely no grasp of anything. It took him a stupid exam that he took in his fifth boarding school that he'd been interviewed at for him to be able to pass it. And he only passed it by the slimmest of margins, considering he had to be told how to _spell his own name!_ But he had no problem spelling _Streptococcus_ _pnuemoniae_.

Nevertheless, on a rainy Monday morning, Cassius Warrington—now known alternatively as Kai Waters—escorted Percy Weasley, now known as Clement Charlie Jones, to his first class of the year. It rained so heavily that they were soaked in their matching black trousers and white button-downs, even though they'd been trying to share a muggle umbrella.

Cassius' straight blonde hair was now a curly brown, covered by a fuzzy cotton hat. His small nose lengthened to a normal size, his cheeks less puffy from the remedies that he'd used. You'd think he'd look like a model, but he'd looked strange with his giant stare-in-your-soul eyes without his chubby cheeks. His face was now covered in as many freckles as Percy's. Which reminded him… did Primpernelle's really sell an ointment that _gave_ you freckles? People _liked_ that dragonpox look?

"Do _NOT_ tell people that you cannot remember anything," Cassius—Kai—warned him. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," Percy replied, staring at the holes in the umbrella. "Can we go inside now?" he was scratching one of his hand to the point where it was bleeding. And he was taking him to a muggle school? "I need to use the bathroom."

The teachers would love this! Bathroom every minute. Cassius couldn't remember what he did in Hogwarts for this but…

"What?" Percy looked close to tears. "It's raining. I'm _dirty_ ," he said the word like it was worse than being a Death Eater.

They'd chopped off Percy's hair and dyed it brown. They'd changed his glasses into something that didn't break instantly. Strangely enough, even with the freckles, just dying a Weasley's hair into something that wasn't gaudy made him look boring and unremarkable. If anyone thought he had distinctive features besides being looking like he had a layer of dirt on him at all times, then they'd seriously need to get themselves checked to treat their expanding space-occupying lesion.

Speaking of dirt, he must've tried to clean those freckles away at some point! Cassius rolled his eyes. Repulsive.

"Clement, _don't_ show anyone how you've managed to do yourself in," Cassius reminded him, watching him shudder from the cold. "I've done less horrible things to a chicken pasty when I was pissed and hungry at three in the morning."

Percy looked at his arm. "How hungry were you?" he asked. Good question.

Yes, they forced the doctor to discharge him when he still had infected cuts that they wanted to skin graft after the antibiotic course. Of course, they'd just drained the bloody thing until there was more pus in their tubes than saline in Percy's IV. They'd given him more antibiotics in the last few days than Cassius had even seen in his life. These muggles were so incompetent. _WHO_ needed to take antibiotics three times a day in a bloody IV?

"Are you alright?" Cassius—Kai—asked. "You don't look well."

"I've taken pain medicines that I've had in our new flat," Percy—Clement—said, and Kai ignored that. That medicine that made him sleepy within minutes? That was why he was walking slower than a flobberworm through fudge? What kind of moron would take a sleep-inducing pain medication at their first day at a muggle school? "I'm in a lot of pain."

Kai bit down his lower lip. _You did this to yourself,_ he thought. _How am I supposed to feel sorry for you?_

When they got to school, Clement did a very normal thing: he took off his shirt in the boys' bathroom in front of a group of blokes that were chattering on about what they'd done at a party last week. After managing to shock four blokes that didn't look over the age of sixteen, Clement opened the tap and then dumped his shirt inside. Already, Kai could see that the other boys were trying to find out what made a 'normal' seventeen-year-old muggle bloke have to be covered in bandages. When Clement was about to unzip his pants, Kai stared at him like he was insane. He was really bloody mental. They hadn't gotten into a class yet, and he was sure that those boys would mention it to someone. And a muggle version of Hermione Granger would tell _the teachers_. Then Kai would have to make a non-metal excuse for _THIS!_

"What are you doing?" Kai said when the boys bolted out, looking like they were about to hurl. "This isn't normal."

"I don't care," he replied almost immediately, shaking as if he'd seen a ghost. "I _HATE_ rain."

Kai's heart was beating loudly into his chest because he could hear people chattering on the inside. Was it about them?

Clement clutched his muddy shirt and looked like he was going to have a breakdown. "I can't do this."

Carrow walked into the boys' bathroom. Kai wasn't even shocked to see the lady with the unclean skin infection that might be contagious.

"We have new official orders from the Dark Lord now that we have new information from Severus Snape regarding The Order of the Phoenix," Kai was not shocked at all. It was like they didn't need an amnesiac to have more information. "Your little mate has already been registered in this boarding school, hasn't he?" Kai nodded his head.

Carrow watched Clement try to wash off the mud without touching it, shaking. She pulled out her wand and Clement's breathing got hitched as he inched backwards. She transfigured a tissue into a mucus-producing flobberworm. Could you really transfigure tissues into sentient beings now? Well, flobberworms were barely sentient.

Kai heard the lavatory door open and a shocked looking fifteen-year-old standing there. "Uh… what's happening here?"

 _"WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THE ORDER?"_ screeched Carrow loudly. Apparently, she didn't like loose ties.

Clement was inching backwards, looking horrified. The fifteen-year-old suddenly fixated on the fact that Clement had much more bandages than skin because he looked like he wanted to hurl.

" _I don't know what that means!"_ Clement was already crying, tears down his cheeks. "I'm _STUPID!_ I have no memories!"

Carrow threw the flobberworm at him and he jumped up from where he was at, staring down at his body. When Clement inched backwards, he ended up reeling backwards onto a puddle of something _wet_. Kai's stomach hurt him. That was disgusting even for him, so he couldn't imagine what kind of explosions were going on in Clement's mind.

Clement paled and he looked like he just… broke. He grabbed his bandage up and then tore it with his bare hands. _"NO!"_

"Come on," Carrow said to Kai, who was just staring at Clement with a shocked expression. Did he really tear out his bandages because they got wet? From whatever was on the floor? What was wrong with him? "Do you want to be Cassius Warrington again? Do you want to see your mum again? Because our Lord has a new mission for us! Now... _FORGET THIS!"_

Kai's heart ached for Clement and how mentally ill he obviously was. Was he like this before he had gotten Obliviated?

Clement watched Carrow walk out of the bathroom. He turned to the fifteen-year-old who actually threw up when he saw the pools of white-congealed blood spilling from Clement's chest wounds. Clement was frantically trying to tear the stitches in his wounds. He picked at it until he was bleeding and then covered his hands with liquid soap before trying to rub it onto his foul-smelling purulent discharge. He counted. One, two, three, four… As if _THAT_ would fix the infection!

"I'm sorry," Kai—who was now Cassius again—said to Clement, though he didn't think he listened or cared.

By the time that Cassius walked out, the fifteen-year-old boy was running away, screeching out something about the new kid being mental and eating a worm. Meanwhile, Clement was in the lavatory, counting. _Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen_ …


	11. A Cleaning Product Mess to Clean

_i want to mention that the next chapter is Percy... and finally, you get to meet Audrey. i'm not sure if i'm going to include Marcus / Cassius / Adrian back into the fold, as it's implied from the last chapter that they'd abandoned Percy. i tried to edit this, but there might still be some mistakes. just a warning._

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Eleven: A Cleaning Product Mess to Clean

* * *

Bill couldn't believe that they went to Quality Quidditch Supplies when their brother was missing. Wonderful. What? Were they hoping for him to be floating amongst Golden Snitches either considering that he was such a… _snitch?_

Molly wasn't with them. She'd been sat at home, crying her eyes out every day since _The Daily Prophet_ article!

She couldn't leave the house to get courgette without being told that her son was a felon and deserved to rot in Azkaban.

Needless to say, Bill hadn't had a vegetable in a month and was starting to look like a _Before_ photo in a Primpernelle ad.

The Weasley's… burrowing away cheap Chinese takeaway for the winter! Even Charlie, who did one-hundred-press-ups a day, was starting to look about as doughy as the cheese and onion pasties they'd been scoffing off in vast quantities.

Arthur had broken down yesterday and splurged on an overpriced salad from Diagon Alley. Bill actually saw Arthur hiding in the closet, trying to stuff his face full of roasted tomatoes and rocket. Because Bill was rotting without carrots and binging without aubergines, he also had to go down to Diagon Alley to get himself a pot of cucumber and olives.

Needless to say, all that watercress left him feeling less like a bloated mess.

Sighing deeply, Bill tried to pretend that he was ashamed of his brothers going to Quality Quidditch Supplies whilst at the same time, trying to rack up a price in his head for a good Comet that wouldn't break the bank.

In the living room, Bill was sat in the couch, seething, and totally not invested in trying to find out how the new Exploding Snap card stack worked no matter what anyone said. But really, did they have to leave out the instruction sheet? You'd need a thirteenth O.W.L just to try and find a way to play this game without losing a sodding finger…

"What did you try to do with my broom? Stick it up your bloody arse?" Charlie was still in awe of battered his broom was.

"Use some spello-tape," Ron mumbled. He should probably use spello-tape when Charlie shoved that broom up his arse.

Charlie looked at his wand, which was falling apart at his hand. _"Spello-tape it?"_ he reiterated. It didn't even look good enough to chuck in for a fire, least the Burrow burned down. "To what? _A NEW BROOMSTICK?_ Yes… that'll work!"

It looked about as wonderful as Charlie's attempt at making a chicken curry last night.

Ginny looked disgusted, not unlike she did when she asked why Charlie's chicken curry was the colour of one of Neville's botched up Dreamless Sleep potions. "What did you even do to that broom?" she asked. Good question.

"Ron tried to whack Percy's big, fat head with it!" Fred snickered. "Because our—"

"—Bludgers missed when we were trying to knock sense into him," George added on, holding an old Beater's Bat.

"He has 12 O.W.L's!" Bill almost forgot that he did too. He was starting to sound like mum. "If _THIS_ is what his bloody family thinks about him, then what do you expect everyone else is saying about him?" Arthur flinched at Bill's tone.

"Fred, George," Arthur gave them a pointed look. "Can you stop making fun of your brother?"

Fat load that did them now that Percy was gone, Bill thought. They should've been nice to him when he wasn't missing… or possibly dead in a ditch somewhere because everyone and their first-year son wanted to hunt down _THEIR BROTHER_. Percy promoted to a _DANGEROUS PUBLIC MENACE!_ On par with Rudolph Lestrange himself!

Yes, Percy was terrifying. A bloke that organised his underpants and sorted them by days... Death Eater Extraordinaire!

"It's _his_ fault we're in this situation," Ron muttered. "And at least _I_ don't think that Cleansweep is a cleaning product."

"Haha _HA_ ," Bill's face as lively as the ghost of Christmas past in his new white robes. Ron told him to go light a candle in church or get some twats married instead of bugging them three minutes ago. "Percy's mental illness is so funny."

Bill shuddered, remembering how much mum tried to ignore it when he'd come to dinner with blistering hands.

Percy… the cold, cruel Death Eater that _cried_ in his fifth year when he was throwing up because of a stomach bug.

He had such a fear of vomiting that when he did manage to get sick, he practically barricaded himself in his room and buried himself in his three layers of blankets. He absolutely refused to eat for _days_ , and barely sipped on water in case he'd be ill again. He could probably manage to descale a dragon just by giving it a thorough bath. At his worst, he'd started to barely eat and drink so that he wouldn't have to use the lavatory more than a few times a week. That didn't sound like a bloke that wouldn't mind sitting in a dusty dungeon in the middle of nowhere, discussing You-Know-Who's plans for domination. Every time someone called Percy an arse-licker, he probably washed his mouth out with soap.

And as if he'd wear lint-covered black robes. He'd wash Death Eater robes until it turned as white as Dumbledore's beard!

Bill couldn't believe that there were people there that literally wanted to hurt him—some even admitted to wanting to _kill_ that 'Death Eater scum'. Sending _DEATH THREATS_ via owl to his mum every day about what they were going to do to him when they found him! A poor forty-five-year-old woman, that was intensely proud of her son's accomplishments, having to read about how people wanted to cut him into little pieces and send him to her by owl post for 'awful parenting!'

His mum hadn't been eating. She'd locked herself in her room, trying to will herself to clean Percy's room, which looked like the aftermath of a chemical explosion. The house reeked of soap and antiseptic solution more and more every day.

"Blimey," Fred practically dropped the Quaffle that he was holding. George looked pained when his arsehole twin just stubbed his toe. _Toestabber_ , George said under his breath. At least it wasn't a Bludger. "Didn't he used to get help for his mental… _ness?_ But one day he came back from his appointment with the healer, _fuming_ about what's been said to him!"

George looked like he had a serious _Lumos_ moment. "Yeah," he said. "He diagnosed Percy with something he didn't like."

"You mean _besides_ the obsessive-compulsive disorder?" Arthur looked at George with renewed interest. Bill was amazed Arthur could even continue having a conversation when he looked like he was about to collapse. He looked more exhausted than… well, Percy climbing a flight of stairs. "He's never said anything about that."

"He did once," Fred remembered too. "He said the healer thought that Percy was complex post-traumatic _something_."

"Traumatic _what?"_ Ron's shoulders slumped. "The most traumatising thing he'd seen is dirty second-hand robes."

Bill felt ill. Percy was currently being hunted by everyone and anyone, and if something happened to him and he really did have something traumatising happen to him… _well_ … Bill felt his stomach twist.

George rolled his eyes.. "The healer said that Percy probably went through something traumatising before, and that's why he's doesn't like being dirty. Maybe we accidentally mutated a dust bunny and forget about it when Percy was like three."

Fred looked at Ron, smirking almost. " _You'd_ know all about being traumatised when you're a kid."

Ron's ears went red. "Yeah, but I tried with Harry when I was still a first year. With Aragog," he mumbled. "Meanwhile Percy applauds himself when he walks in the rain without having a panic attack. And then still strips down his clothes and his sheets and acts like mum doesn't know he does that. He acts like he's doing mum a favour by being so _clean_."

Bill shot a look over at Ron. "If _only_ we can all be brave like you!" he rolled his eyes.

Ginny snickered. Yeah, she wasn't leaving the Burrow in those shorts. Not over his dead, earringless, hairless body!

Charlie cleared his throat. Hadn't been getting attention. _Poor Charlie and his itty training broom_ … Bill rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Charlie?" Bill asked, only for Charlie to glare at Bill and then look over at Arthur with a serious expression.

"The Ministry probably wants to send Percy straight to Azkaban without a trial, right?" Charlie said. "But if Skeeter knows that Percy has files in mental health, she'd probably make it an issue to force them to take it to court."

"I am _not_ saying my son is mental in court," Arthur looked appalled. "Especially when he might not be a Death Eater!"

"But it's not a lie," Ron pointed out. "He _is_ mental. Normal people don't hoard more antiseptics than a hospital."

"It's better than having people send death threats to our house," Charlie mentioned, his shoulders slumped.

"Percy is not…" Arthur was faltering, because he seemed to be remembering that Percy definitely _was_ unhinged.

Charlie wanted to return to Quality Quidditch Supplies for a new broom that didn't look like it had been regurgitated by one of his dragons. Because obviously that was way more important than discussing the fact that Percy might be, you know, _dead already_ because the bloody clock couldn't tell them that. Sod all that was for. A clock made for a time of war and it couldn't tell them if Percy was alive! Slumping down to a loveseat by the Weasley clock ever to be swinging between _LOST_ and _MORTAL PERIL_ (what exactly _was_ Percy doing?), Arthur's eyes twitched. He'd been trying to forget about the time period where Percy was so mental even a bone-weary working overtime Arthur noticed how ill he'd been.

"Godric, Percy's making it hard for me _not_ to think of him like that now," Arthur ran his hand through whatever was left of his tuft of red hair. "That boy practically washes dishes until they break."

Bill just shrugged. "Percy _is_ sick, Dad. We've just gotten used to him being a nutter." It was easier to accept it, since he wasn't dying because he'd wake up at three in the morning just to go overwork the laundry machine.

"I know," Charlie said, rolling his eyes. "He really is in water more than a bloody fish. He thinks that if the toilet bowl seat is not gleaming like a pearl, it's practically infested. And he's spent all his Hogwarts money to the local laundromat."

Bill was surprised Percy had the time to be so meticulous and still study… no wonder he didn't have any friends!

"Mum lets him," Ginny mentioned, sitting down beside Bill on the couch. Perfume too? Since when did she start wearing perfume?

"She _shouldn't_ be letting him," Ron mumbled. For once, Bill agreed. "She's just enabling him to be even more mental."

"Your mother doesn't enable your brother into being _mental_ ," Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes were red-rimmed and whatever was left of his hair looked like it had been abused by a Whomping Willow. "Did you remember how he used to act like if she didn't condone his behaviour? He gets so anxious he start picking at his own skin."

Bill forgot about that. Percy picking at his hair too. Why start balding at his sixth year? Did Arthur inspire him?

Fred stared into space and came to his senses. "No," he said. "There's no way that Percy is a Death Eater. He won't even sit in an untidy office. There is no way he'd be okay with walking into another person's house—"

 _"—without permission,"_ George cut him off. "And forget touching anything foreign without using gloves."

"What about sitting in a dungeon in the middle of nowhere with no access to a nearby lavatory?" Fred finished off, sounding even more dubious when he was really thinking about it. "No way that Percy is a Death Eater… _no way_."

"I forgot that he was ill," Ginny admitted. "Why _isn't_ he in treatment for it?"

"We just said— _if_ you were paying attention…" Fred rolled his eyes. "That Percy didn't like that his healer told him that he was traumatised into wanting to sort and label and clean everything in his life. So, he just stopped seeing them."

Bill wondered if that was the only psychiatric healer that Percy ever saw. That was particularly grim.

George nodded his head. "We tried to talk to him to see if there was something, but he just slammed the door in our face."

Fred then said, "But I think he may have written it to his girlfriend?" Bill had almost forgotten that Percy had a girlfriend.

"His _girlfriend?"_ Arthur perked up. "He's still dating him? Do you think maybe he's with her?"

"I doubt it," Ginny said. "I think it'll be the second place the Ministry looked for after they came to the Burrow. But she might know something about why Percy stopped being treated. They used to owl each other a lot."

Fred looked irritated. "I know," he groaned. "I don't know what kind of charms they used to use on their owls."

"Dad, can you talk to Kingsley?" Bill rubbed his arm. He knew that Percy's healer couldn't exactly just spill out the most intimate details of consultations that he'd had with his patients—but Percy's life was _in danger_. "Maybe you can get him to talk to a member of the Wizengamot? To have a copy of Percy's mental health files?"

"I'll see about it," Arthur said tentatively. "I don't feel comfortable intruding on Percy's privacy like this."

"He's missing, Dad, and nobody knows where he is," Bill said. "If there's something that he might have done or might be doing that he's never told us about that could give us an idea of where he is, then we should be doing that."

"If he'd just answer the bloody owl mum sent him…" Ron mumbled.

"Maybe he can't," George just shrugged. "Probably washed his hand right off and can't write anymore."

It wasn't like they had any other leads. Bill and Arthur's visit to Amanuensis Quills didn't exactly work in their favour. They'd asked about Percy, and the bloke behind the till just deflected all their questions and tried to sell them subpar quills at shocking prices. Bill felt frustrated because he didn't know how to find Percy if he _was_ hiding now… his mum sent an owl, but Percy hadn't replied to it yet. Bill was wondering if he was with someone that was tampering with the owls.

Whilst they were sat there, contemplating what to do, Bill watched an exhausted-looking Molly still in her oversized black cotton nightgown walk downstairs to take a mop and bucket from the kitchen.

"Bill, Charlie," Molly looked over at them with soft eyes. Percy's cupboards had been leaking everywhere and attracting mutated insects. Arthur was sure Hermes did something when he had been trying to get out of his cage, practically as a _fuck you_ to the family. Even the owl had attitude. "Can you help me move his bed? That carpet is practically mottling."

Bill nodded his head. As he and Charlie climbed up the stairs, Charlie grabbed Bill by his shoulder.

"I forgot about him being ill," Charlie admitted to Bill, who didn't seem impressed. "I don't think we need to wait for a report from the Wizengamot to go see his healer. I'm sure everyone's been either reading _The Prophet_ , or he's heard from it in the thousand publications mentioning Death Eaters and the Ministry. It's worth seeing without an official report."

Bill didn't know what to say. "Are you sure you want to bother looking?" he asked acerbically.

Charlie's ears reddened. "I've read some of the owls they'd been sending," he said. "I didn't know people could be so bloody cruel to a fucking nineteen-year-old kid. I felt ill reading them. They gave _me_ a panic attack."

"Wonderful," Bill dryly said. "Imagine how mum must feel like having to read them now."

"Fine. I'm an arse," Charlie said. "I care so much about my stupid broom when my own brother is lost, and in danger."

Bill looked satisfied with the apology. When they walked into Percy's room, they were shocked to see that the endless amount of harmless remedies Percy had lying around had interact with his cleaning products. Soapy Flitterblies were flying everywhere, rubbing themselves against a congealed syrupy looking substance underneath the carpet. Wow. Bill considered owling The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures about it.

"What is _that?"_ Charlie asked Molly, who looked focused on the bed when she should be focused on the sentient beings.

"It's what happens when you mix lots of chemicals in cleaning products, Pepper-Up Potion and potion ingredients," Bill was pretty sure. Percy obviously didn't plan on doing this. At least they probably didn't need to use Scouring Charms anymore?

"Blimey," Charlie looked disgusted. "It was just a normal mess a few days ago! How did this happen so fast?"

Bill just shrugged. "I have no clue," he said. "Dad thinks maybe Percy's owl had something to do with it."

To be fair to his mum, the bed was wet as anything and the carpet was so mouldy and mottled. They'd need to remove all the cupboards and carpets and boxes just to be able to clean the Forbidden Forest of cleaning products. That sounded like an oxymoron, didn't it? Cleaning the Forest of Cleaning Products? Bill's head was spinning.

But it was like Percy never left! Bill thought bitterly. There were mops flying around the room.

Did Percy really have _mops_ in his room? As in more than one? Why did he need more than one mop?

Bill was shocked at the thin spiders made of washing up liquid, lying on webs spun from congealed Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. He remembered to make Ron come up here, because he'd already faced his fears!


	12. I've Been Kidnapped By My Mates?

_i understand that this is one of the most confusing fanfictions to read this date. i feel the need to go through the three plotlines in this fanfiction. i make a lot of apologises to the grammar / spelling / inappropriate use of words at times. i remember tonnes of people calling me out on that. i really do apologise, and hope that you could look past that. i do try with editing, etc, but i really do this as a hobby.  
_

 _firstly..._

 _ **The Burrow** : the problem with this fanfiction is that everyone is confused in this one. it is about 1 month post Percy's disappearance and i think that people are starting to feel like there is a serious threat to Percy's life, which is what caused the shift in the past few chapters. there is the big 'is Percy really a Death Eater' debate, and people having have chosen their sides (and choosing other sides in the future). they are hopefully soon about to launch their own mini investigation by having a good talk with Penelope, who might lead them down another path._

 _ **The Death Eaters:** they are also confused, just as the Burrow. Marcus, Adrian and Cassius are made to follow orders and don't always know what is going on 100% (as you noticed by last chapter that you've seen Cassius where he was just given a choice from Carrow to come or continue being a fugitive). they are not Death Eaters because they've chosen to be, but because this was their options as a result of threats (we know with Marcus it's because his sisters were being threatened and with Cassius, it's because his mum was being threatened). they are currently being looked for by Aurors, which is briefly mentioned with the whole 'flat has burned down' thing. Marcus is not that great at casting spells. (who would've known). t **he reason** that they had to take care of Percy after a botched up spell was because it is not part of the 'plan' currently for people to know that Death Eaters are back and Voldemort is a threat. having the junior assistant to the Minister of Magic turn up suddenly with no memories (and most importantly, no filter - saying everything that's gone on in his mind) is going to cause a lot of controversy, which might make it hard for the Death Eaters to infiltrate the Ministry. they also couldn't Imperio Percy because technically, he is just as wanted as Cassisus/Adrian/Marcus are, and would soon be thrown to Azkaban. they couldn't kill him because that would raise even more question. basically, in summary, **the political backlash** of an amnesiac junior assistant to the Ministere (with brain injury from wand misuse) would delay Voldemort's plans on infiltrating the Ministry for control and also, subsequently, obtaining the prophecy. hopefully, more on this plotline soon... _

_**Percy** : his thoughts are really disjointed and don't make much sense many times. this is obviously because he did sustain a brain injury after he'd been Obliviated, though is hopefully starting to get a little better. he doesn't an obvious personality and is very childish / unable to understand / grasp concepts right now etc. i did mention some frontal lobe dysfunction, but heaven knows what other cortical lesions he has! _

_**comment replies:**_

 _ **Minna Vipera:** i'm sorry about that. i sometimes believe that certain words mean what they mean. English isn't my first language and i sometimes think certain words mean something without really thinking about it! i had to look up 'throttle' which i always thought meant hit and realised it actually means choke / suffocate. well, unless it'll be a very cartoonish choking where someone just slams a book against your throat... well, i apologise for that. i'm sorry you're not enjoying it and feel like it is disjointed. i think the problem lies with me probably because when i reread something and feel like it doesn't flow, i add in things, and then rereaad it. there are probably details i think about in my head that i believe are implied, but i don't make obvious probably. i am really trying to fix that...  
_

 _ **Phoenixx Rising:** as long as Percy isn't there to witness his family being like that, well!  
_

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Twelve: I've Been Kidnapped By My Mates?

* * *

Clement Charlie Jones woke back in a hospital bed. His cuts had probably been stitched back up again because he was now wrapped in wads of thick white bandages. Oh, and he supposed they _had_ to be stitched up because he wasn't dead!

He probably had been given more blood than a vampire! But well, he really just had to _be positive_ about the ordeal.

Get it? Because Clement Charlie Jones' blood type was _B positive_ …

He'd seen so much white in the past few hours that he'd come to believe that he was living in a white chocolate cloud—maybe having have had more morphine infused in him than an addict might have something to do with it. Fortunately, his doctor, _for some peculiar reason_ , really did believed that he was in pain. Maybe that was because most of his body covered in gashes that were deeper than a pornstar's arsehole! At least Clement matched the hospital curtains now with how sickly pale he was… and he did get a cup of tea after he'd been taken down to the ward, almost semi-conscious.

Right now, he really wanted to see someone to tell him _he didn't mean_ to rip his stitches out in a panic!

 _I'm sorry I lied about the bear attack,_ Clement told Dr Michaels before he lost consciousness. _Can I have a cup of tea before I die?_

He would also like to thank Dr Michaels very much for not letting him die when they'd wheeled away from the ER up to the anaesthetist (how hard was _that_ to spell? Clement was sure that maybe he used to be very smart, but now he wasn't.)

It was almost embarrassing that he'd told the doctor about it and he _didn't_ die. Of course, Clement was very glad that he was alive. But he was sure that if he had all his memories, he probably wouldn't be ecstatic about being alive. People that were generally ecstatic about life _didn't_ butcher their skin like they were trying to hack off fat from a piece of overcooked lamb. People that were generally ecstatic about life did _not_ scratch and pick at their arms when they did not have access to a lavatory for more than two hours because they felt filthy. He wondered if he'd started to harm himself because his mum died of breast cancer? He could sometimes _feel_ like his mum used to love him very much.

 _I feel that my mum has loved me… you know, before I lost my memory!_ was probably not something to say to a psychiatrist. It might give him the wrong message. Especially, apparently, if that psychiatrist was a bloke called Sigmund Freud!

It was his first day in school and he'd already been sent to the emergency room? Clement suppose he could kiss his perfect attendance away! Lost in thoughts, he heard a _click_ sound and looked up to see a girl bringing him back to reality.

Oh, he didn't notice that he'd had a visitor. Clement's heart did something on the monitor that made her turn red.

"Hello?" Clement's voice was hoarse. He wondered if moving would make these wires stop working?

She was aggressively writing in a note pad. Thick strands of her light brown hair fell in front of her round, chubby face.

"Just a moment," her voice was very soft, like her face. She pushed her glasses back up her face. "Alright?"

Clement was pretty sure that the girl wasn't Marcus. She looked like a _real_ girl. Or at least he hoped, because Clement was already mild to moderately attracted to her, and it would be a shame if he found out that he was bent this way—maybe he was! Because even his cuts weren't straight from how large they were.

She was wearing a strawberry-red sundress, and an oversized denim jacket. She had on red shoes. Clement liked the shoes.

"Miss?" Clement broke her out of concentration again. "Who are you? And why are you here?"

She looked very annoyed that he couldn't wait a moment.

"Me? Well… I'm Audrey Claire Brown. I'm president of the writer's club at the London Fox-Palmer Academy," she said. "The writer's club publishes their own literary magazine monthly called _Foxy Palms_ , which I proudly announce is _my_ brain child. _NOW_ … after you collapsed in the bathroom on the first day of school, _real-life telly reporters_ were everywhere asking about what happened. And well, I just _HAD_ to get the scoop on you before everyone else! _That's_ why I'm here."

Clement nodded his head numbly. "I would like two butterscotch scoops," he said. "Are there any toasted almonds?"

And no, Clement could not see. His new glasses were a little funny. He had to squint sometimes.

He felt it was a little harsh when Audrey wrote down _intellectually disabled? likes scotch?_ on the top of her sheet. Clement was not intellectually disabled just because he lost all of his memories, and he didn't want to listen to his used-to-be? flatmates jabber on about their Dark Lord. Clement was sure that he wasn't as religious as them! But he knew that they were also insulting him. _WHY_ would he listen to people insulting him? They went off about how many owls he used to have and now, he had none but Marcus and his big fat stone head couldn't count! He had _BARRY_ the sugar-free jam-eating owl!

They'd laughed at his test results. At having to go from one boarding school to the next because of how _stupid_ he was.

 _THEY_ were stupid ones! Insulting him straight to his face! Why would he tell them off? He didn't know them that well.

If he told them off, then Clement might end up being homeless again because he couldn't keep his mouth shut! He may have lost memories, but he'd never told them that he didn't understand any English. Besides, wasn't it hard enough trying to comprehend Maths when he had to enough painkillers to make an addict in rehab have an orgasm?

It was _hard_ to take exams when you were on mild-altering medication that made your brain feel like candy floss.

"Miss, I can assure you that I'm _not_ intellectually disabled," Clement sat up. His back ached. He wished he could see a nurse (was nurse Janine going to tend to him?) and his doctor that saved his life by taking him to the operating theatre. Now, that Clement was conscious enough, he could remember how much blood (not IQ points he'd like to clarify) he'd lost. "I _AM_ peculiar, but this is only because I've lost all my memories about three or four weeks ago. But some people have helped me out and told me that my name is Clement Charlie Jones. Unfortunately, I believe they've abandoned me?"

Kai or Cassius or whoever he really was told him that he was _sorry_ before he disappeared! _Sorry!_ What a help that was!

He actually believed that his real name was Clement. That was why Marcus gave him those files and told him to learn it off. He didn't understand why _they_ had fake names—were they running away from the law? Clement didn't think he'd done anything wrong. He didn't feel like a bad person. He was sure his name was Clement Charlie Jones and that he lived in a farm in Devon. Before he'd lost consciousness, he could practically _SEE_ the farm flash before his eyes!

He felt excited just remembering something from his past. Something so vivid. He could smell the fresh-cut grass. And he could remember hearing the chickens cluck! But he didn't remember his mum dying from cancer. But Clement could _feel_ sometimes how much she used to love him. He could feel it in his boring, old book-loving bones (yes, he could remember now! _He was boring!)._ How exciting was it that you remembered that you were about as interesting as a stick in a mud!

Thinking about Adrian, Cassius and Marcus abandoning him made his anger fade. Now, he felt _guilty_ for being angry.

If they were criminals, they did help him. If it wasn't for them, he'd be homeless. Shouldn't he be grateful?

"These people that have _helped_ you…" the way that Audrey said it sounded like she didn't believe them. Wow. Had she met them? "Did they by any chance tell you _how_ you'd managed to lose all your memories?"

"They said they didn't know," Clement had been trying to remember how he'd managed to lose all his memories, but he was still blanker than the Geometry paper he'd been made to answer to get into the London Fox-Palmer Academy.

"Rubbish," Audrey said, and Clement thought that maybe she was right. How come Marcus knew so much about him but didn't know how he managed to lose his memories? Clement liked how Audrey thought. "I bet they know but they didn't tell you. Maybe you hit your head and it was their fault, so they stayed hush-hush about it." Maybe she was right.

"Why did you come to see me?" Clement asked, watching her scribble down _head injury? Tell doctor about it_.

"For an article I'm writing for _Foxy Palms,_ my magazine that I've just told you about!" Audrey then wrote down _doesn't remember what I've told him?_ Clement wondered if she wasn't used to normal people forgetting what she said. It was kind of hard to remember things after you've passed out. He'd just been out of the operating theatre, where he'd been… well, he didn't actually know what happened, but he was sure it was life-saving! Did normal people not get confused or tired anymore? Especially after they were in a critical state just moments before? Clement wondered.

"If you'd recall," Audrey said, her voice steady. "I said that I just had to write about the new student that was found scratching his gaping self-harm cuts in a bathroom on the first day of school… and then fainted because of the blood loss! You had to be taken to the theatre to get stabilised. And—and I've taken pictures! Do you want to see them?"

When she said _I've taken pictures, do you want to see them?_ Clement gawked at her. Um… well…

"Yes… I mean—no, _no, thank you_ ," Clement said, looking affronted. "I'm sure I don't want to see pictures of myself bleeding on a disgusting bathroom! I find it a little strange that you'd want to offer to show them to me?"

He wondered if she thought he was mental enough to want to see pictures of him on the ground with his blood pooling out of his three-thousand ice-cream scoop sized wounds? That had the genuine depth of a woman's _moist cave?_ By the way, when was she getting him those two scoops of butterscotch? He wasn't talking about her… satsumas when he'd mentioned butterscotch, alright? Clement flushed. He really did mean scoops of ice-cream!

There was a shop about how there were twenty-eight distinct flavours of ice-cream. He bet _they_ had butterscotch. It was next to _CAROL'S WEDDING BOUTIQUE_. Clement could remember because he was homeless for a few hours.

"Yes, well," she went a little bit red. Almost as red as her sundress and very nice shoes. Clement supposed that Audrey had not had a mastectomy, considering that she had two… lumps of sugar. If he forgot that he'd ever done it, was this the same as being a virgin? Even if he'd slept with the whole of Newcastle, was he considered a virgin because of his _inexperience?_

They both flushed for a little while and didn't really look at each other.

Audrey ripped out her notes and tried to write them into comprehensive sentences.

Clement tried to make sense of everything that he'd been through in the past month. He was sure that Adrian, Cassius and Marcus were running away from the law, and they might have committed a crime. Clement was involved. Did people think that maybe he might've committed a crime because they saw them with each other?

Maybe he wasn't really Clement, and they were trying to change each other's identities so they couldn't be found.

But Clement felt more like himself than ever now, sat in the bed. As Clement Charlie Jones from a farm in Devon. He was sure that he'd had a father that had his own shed of beaten-up toasters and broken children's toys. Clement didn't know why he managed to hoard those things, but he could recognise them when he'd slept. Electric fans with wings chipped off, board games that had collected dust, and a box of Tampax that could probably give you toxic shock syndrome now.

Clement had been learning a lot, reading the newspaper and turning on the telly in the flat in the past month!

"I remember being in a place where there was a fire," Clement admitted, his voice soft. Audrey looked up from what she was writing and was looking at him with shiny cornflower blue eyes. "It was in an alleyway. Then I must've passed out. I've woken up someplace different. I've been hysterical, so I think they must've knocked me out after. Because the public was getting hysterical too—they might've recognised the people I was with as awful. Criminals of some sort… then I was someplace in the middle of nowhere. Maybe I've passed out then—probably several times—probably how I've gotten my head injury that made me lose all my memories… and the people that were with me didn't think they could go back to where they were from because they'd be recognised. They blamed me, so it must've been something I must've done. Maybe that's why they hated me. But I'm not sure why they've kept me alive. They talked a lot about a Dark Lord, a You-Know-Who…well, I don't know who but… there was _something_ about trying to breakdown the Order of the Phoenix and infiltrating the Ministry for… _something_."

 _Government_ , Audrey wrote down. _Order of the Phoenix? Dark Lord? Religious extremists? Psychotic?_

Clement didn't know if he'd preferred to be stupid or psychotic.

"These are the _same people_ that told you who you were?" Audrey asked, raising an eyebrow. "And you trusted them?"

Clement nodded his head. She must think that he was daft. As if he'd deserved to be deserted in the middle of nowhere.

"I don't want to talk to you anymore," Clement decided. "You're making me feel very daft," his voice was low.

"I don't mean to," this was the closest that Audrey had said to an apology thus far. "The story's just not adding up to me, you see."

"You expected coherence from the mind of someone that doesn't remember _anything?"_ Clement challenged in irritation. He'd heard the doctors once tell him that he was lucky that he wasn't incontinent!

Audrey didn't say anything. She read over her notes. Her notes were long, and her handwriting was big and curly. Clement had discovered the pen just a week ago. He enjoyed the fact that it didn't have any feathers and no animals were harmed in the making of it too! He didn't know how to use it as well as she did. He didn't know that you were supposed to practically stab the paper when you were writing. That was interesting, wasn't it?

Mid-writing, Audrey looked like she'd _just_ realised what he'd said—and she thought he was slow.

"Did you say a fire?" Audrey said. "In an alleyway?" and she told him off for not hearing her say _Foxy Palms?_ "Because that was in all the papers a few weeks ago. Sudden spontaneous fire started in an alleyway. They thought that it was because some bloke threw away a cigarette on leaking, flammable products!"

Audrey's jaw dropped. " _CLEANING_ products!" she shrieked out. Probably waking up the blokes that were in a coma. It was horrible being in the medical ward. Most of them were six-year-olds that contracted pneumonia or just had a fit. Not the fit that sixteen-year-olds had when their mum didn't want them to buy the new _Radiohead_ album, but you know, the kind of fit where you fell on the floor, frothing at the mouth and pissing yourself. Where you might die from brain injury.

Clement nodded his head mutely. "I do like cigarettes," he said weakly. "And cleaning products."

"Maybe _you_ threw the cigarette during the altercation," Audrey said. "You were _kidnapped_ by _your so-called mates_ and then... well...they tried to cover up their identity _AND_ yours!"

Clement didn't understand why he didn't feel angry, or betrayed. He just felt numb hearing that. "Oh," he said.

When the psychiatrist came around to have a chat with them, Clement barely edged a word in before Audrey told him what they'd talked about. From the fact that Clement might be the bloke that they talked about in the news a few days ago and to the possible head injury he'd sustained from being hit on the head. Audrey mentioned how Clement was mental about cleaning his hands. What was the psychiatrist there to assess for anyway? Everyone knew that he was mental. Did he just want to give it a _name?_ She'd even mentioned that seventeen-year-old Clement smoked. He didn't really feel comfortable with people knowing that he liked a fag here and there. It felt personal to him—almost. He knew it wasn't a great thing to have a smoke, and he didn't want people to think that he was an operating chimney twenty-four-seven!

He felt a little better when all the psychiatrist seemed to care about was the fact that he might've been kidnapped!

The psychiatrist—Dr Clarke—said that he'd read the papers but didn't think much of it.

He didn't seem to agree with Audrey. "The bloke in the papers had different hair. He was described as having bright—"

"My hair is naturally red," Clement cut the doctor off, who looked at him dubiously. He supposed that if he was the doctor, he'd have a heart time believing that his patient was kidnapped when said patient didn't remember anything. And was mental. "My mates—I suppose they weren't really—made me dye it? Though I don't particularly _feel_ like a redhead."

"They dyed it as a cover-up," Audrey must like mystery novels. It was strange how she believed him considering that she simultaneously thought he was intellectually disabled and everything that came out of his mouth was questionable.

"Alright," Dr Clarke dismissed her. "Clement, can I ask you some questions about what happened this morning?"

Clement nodded his head fervently. "Alright," he said. "But I think you already know. That's why you're here, isn't it?"

"I want to hear the story from you," Dr Clarke said. But Clement didn't think that there was much of a story to it.

There were some serious gaps in his story telling. Gaps that probably need to be knitted together more desperately than Clement and his wounds. He tried to tell him about Kai, or Cassius… and Marcus and Adrian. About how the mud felt like. How he'd felt this incredible need to literally rip apart his skin from how filthy he felt like on the inside. But he was not sure _why_ he'd felt this way. Clement had no recollection of his past, but he still felt an innate need to tear apart his skin, not because he wanted to hurt himself, but because he didn't feel _clean_ on the inside. His wounds were infected, and he was muddy and dirty. When he felt dirty, he felt like the worst person in the world. He felt below paedophiles, rapists and murderers. Like he was below the lowest of the low. Like he'd deserved to _die_ for being so _disgusting_ …

Maybe he was part of the crime that they'd committed then. Maybe that was _why_ he felt this way, wasn't it?

Clement told Dr Clarke about the files and how he'd had to memorise Clement's story. But then he'd started to vividly remember the feeling of being on a farm. He'd remembered some things, like plucking strawberries in a field close by home and making their own homemade jam. Clement even remembered the _steps_ to making said jam! Sugar-free too! For Barry.

But he didn't remember his mum's name. Or how long he'd been in London. But he used to live in Devon he was _sure_.

Well, to be fair, Clement should've known from before he wasn't in London. _What with his accent!_

The more Clement talked, the more that he felt like Dr Clarke and Audrey didn't believe a word that he'd said. It wasn't enough feeling so dirty, but now, he had to feel stupid. Like he was just a little child that should be coddled. That didn't understand anything. Clement didn't think that he was _intellectually disabled_. He could understand it when they thought that he was. Didn't people that were intellectually disabled not know that people considered them as intellectually disabled? He felt so defeated that he just slunk back down at his bed and refused to say anything.

Cooing at him like he was a bloody infant! Clement understood enough to feel how _condescending_ this all was.

Audrey stayed there long enough for the psychiatrists to have a long chat with him and diagnose him as having obsessive-compulsive disorder. Clement did _not_ like that word. It made him feel anxious just thinking about it.

Clement did not know why the doctor wanted him to take an antidepressant. He didn't think that he was depressed, but he supposed that most jolly people didn't try to rip their skin apart. They had done brain images on him a few hours ago in a noisy machine they called an MRI (it wasn't bad enough being sick but having to sit still for forty-five minutes when he was claustrophobic was _wonderful_. They gave him a Valium afterwards. He liked them—better than cigarettes!) and said that they were some changes in his frontal lobe. They thought that he might've had a traumatic head injury and that was how he'd lost all his memories. A psychiatrist other than Dr Clarke disagreed and thought that he might be in a _dissociative state_ , which was a fancy way of saying that he forgot his own memories because he was just _too mental_. How awful was that? That someone really believe that you could be so mental that you'd literally just wake up having have forgotten about your own mum?

Audrey was writing everything the doctors were telling them. Clement felt like ripping the papers out.

"Are you going to write that all in a magazine?" Clement asked after a while, letting her hand waver slightly when he'd confronted her. She really thought he was daft, didn't she? "Isn't that a little personal? Having people know that I had a traumatic brain injury from something I don't remember and that I've been put on antidepressants?"

"If you didn't want people to know, you wouldn't have been trying to rip your stitches apart," Audrey replied.

Clement stared at her with a confused facial expression. "That's like saying that if I didn't want anyone to know I've had a heart condition then I wouldn't have fainted at school, isn't it?" he inquired. He couldn't help the symptoms of his disease! "I don't know why you believe that I don't understand how to read. I am not, as you seem to believe, _intellectually disabled."_

Audrey went red, because she didn't know that he'd been reading her notes. "Well, I have to report _something_."

Clement didn't understand why she had to write anything at all. "I don't want you to write about me."

What did they care about his consent? Clement remembered Dr Michaels and that dragon lady with the bulbous skin infection—Carrow had probably given Clement his awful skin infection thank you—that he couldn't consent to much. They all thought that he had about as much autonomy as a nappy-wearing bloke dying from dementia. He was obviously mental, had a traumatic brain injury and amnesia—couldn't remember his own last name, much less try to dictate the treatment that he'd _need_ , right? Even the nurses didn't trust him to go to the lavatory by himself. They'd passed a line from which he'd been urinating from. Honestly, Clement was shocked they'd let him _breathe_ on his own.

Was this because he lied about the bear attack? Clement had apologised for that. He didn't understand why he had to be questioned so much. He was sure that Adrian, Marcus and Cassius were involved in something illegal, and maybe he was too—though he didn't remember what. That was why the people with abilities were tracking them down now, wasn't it?

Clement was so confused. The only things that was more confusing was Chapter 19 in his Maths textbook!

The doctors tried to phone Carrow—whose fake name he couldn't remember anymore. Clement didn't understand where he was supposed to go now. Was he homeless once the hospital decided that he was done with him? Was it cruel to think about hurting himself just so he could stay in the hospital forever? _How_ was he supposed to pay for the hospital?

He felt suddenly overwhelmed, as he curled up underneath his covers.

"Is there anyway I could convince you to—?" Audrey was cut off by an angry Clement.

"Write whatever you want," Clement decided. "I don't care." He was biting the inside of his lip, apprehensive.

Audrey put her pen and paper away. "Where are your parents, Clement?" she asked. "Because I haven't seen them yet."

She'd heard his name when they'd been talking to the psychiatrists. Dr Clarke kept on calling him by his name, like it would calm him down and not distress him. Especially when he told him to stop dragging his nails across his hand. He hadn't even noticed that he'd been doing it until the psychiatrist had told him about it.

"I don't have any," Clement replied. He wondered about the things that he'd read about in the file. What if he was so affected by Norma's mastectomy because his mum died of breast cancer?

"Oh," Audrey's voice was wavering a little bit.

Clement nodded his head. He rubbed his arm, feeling his bulging bandage. "The people I was with enrolled me. But they had a flat…that I could come to after my classes," he tried to explain to her.

Audrey looked white. She looked down at her notes, as if she wanted them to change.

"Fox-Palmer is a boarding school," Audrey told him in a very soft voice. "I'm sure they have a room for you."

"Do they?" Clement hadn't really paid attention to the fact that it was a boarding school. "Oh."

He didn't mention anything about how he didn't know if he couldn't pay his own hospital bills. Would they accept a jam-eating owl as payment? How about the baked cheese crackers he had in his bag? He stole it from Adrian. He supposed it didn't matter now...

"You'll be alright," Audrey tried to say, and put the papers in her bag. "I'm—I'm…sorry."

 _"What?"_ Clement didn't understand what she was apologising for, but she looked like she was about to cry when she left. He didn't understand why he'd upset her. "I don't understand. What are you sorry for?"

Audrey stood up, throwing her bag over her shoulder. "It's just…well…if I publish this, I'd be exploiting you, wouldn't I?" she'd asked, as if she'd just trying to work this out in her head. "You'd just been really ill, and you don't have a family or anyone to protect you. And you might have been kidnapped—it just… it sounds awful. And it's awful that I've even thought about putting it in a magazine, right? Because only a terrible person would think about putting it out there for someone to read. I just hadn't thought about the fact that... well, if I was as ill as you, I wouldn't want people to know such private information about me when I'm so _vulnerable._ When I don't know what's happening to me... I don't know how frightening it must be for you. To not know!"

Clement stayed silent, and he just looked at her. "Oh," was all he could say. No wonder people thought that he was stupid.

Audrey cleared her throat. "I…I just really hope that you get better, alright?" she said. "Good luck, Clement."

"Oh... okay," a confused Clement replied. He wondered if he'd ever see Audrey again when she left. Because he'd made more sense of what was happening to him today than any other day since he'd lost his memories. He just felt like he could really get better. Like maybe if he and Audrey worked at it, he could remember something. Because he didn't know that he might've gotten kidnapped!

"Are you going to see me again... Audrey?" Clement asked, but she'd already shut the door behind her.


	13. I Might Be Better?

_honestly, i hope that this isn't too badly written (as an author's note)._

 _i wanted to post this chapter up as quickly as possible since the reviews on the last chapter has made me think a great deal. sometimes, when i get reviews like this, i do tend to think about it way too much. it's been leaving me anxious, making me want to update just to try and write an explanatory author's note (literally barely been able to get any uni work done this week because i keep thinking about this! i thought of just posting an explanation without a chapter but i don't like those chapter updates that are just author's notes). this has really been distressing me. especially since i know my English can be choppy / my sentence structure can be weird / sometimes i don't explain things enough (issues i apologise for honestly! i know it's not an excuse but i always say i'm not interested in being a writer. i literally just do this as a hobby because it makes me feel good to finish a story!)._

 _i feel a little irritated feeling like i've been mucking about an idea that was originally good because i felt like i had a very specific direction i want this to go to, but it is painstaking. i feel very scatterbrained._

 _this fanfiction is exceedingly hard to write for because there are so many loopholes i think i'm bashing my head around. i solely write fanfiction just to put Percy in a dark situation (i just like angsty, dark fanfictions!). most of this fanfiction is more focused on his feelings than his actions i'd admit (so literally it's more mental development than anything else. because he went from being oblivious / dissociated from the situation to becoming more aware to hopefully later on slowly developing his own new personality whilst not making him too OOC. honestly, that has been my plan from day 1 of writing it since i just wanted a major clash regarding that later on when he is re-united with his family). yes, i do know that it is a lot of words to introduce Audrey (especially since she is a main character and mentioned in the summary. this is literally the equivalent of reading a book that requires reading 1/2 of it just to get to the plotline that's in the summary i'm aware!) but it's just i had a difficult time writing it initially (because i'd have a complete mental 1-2 chapter block with Percy being completely oblivious and it's very hard for me to try and get them to talk to each other. i usually don't post fanfictions until i've written a good 5-10 chapters so i could change the wording in the summary because i know i tend to do this). so i decided to go with this 'put Percy in high school' plot bunny that i had so i was really just trying to set for that a few chapters ago, especially since i wanted to use that plot for other reasons later on. so now, his knowledge of the muggle world is still extremely deficit (which is the point of this fanfiction i know) but he's not completely lost that he can't carry on a conversation with Audrey since he's had to study to try to get into that school since i was finding it so hard to have them talking. the Audrey i have developed for this fanfiction pre-writing and the one now is also completely different because of that!_

 _i'm not sure. i had an idea of where to go now (well, a few ideas and i did want to continue towards that) but i'm doubting literally everything i have planned for this fanfiction. any suggestions towards how i can fix this? is there something specific that you wanted to see? if it really isn't going very well, i can just delete it. i do feel discouraged on writing because i feel like i am literally analysing every sentence i am writing! one chapter literally takes days for me to write, so it's natural i feel a little gutted. i am feeling a little vulnerable about my writing right now, so i hope that you take it into consideration when writing comments. i honestly tried to carefully select my wording here, because i completely agree with the comments that have been posted. i don't want anyone to think i am targeting them or anything! i appreciate everyone's input and know that as i am taking my time to write, people are taking their time to read and comment. i know that if nobody criticised me, my writing would be worse so i do appreciate it! i am grateful for anyone that is reading my fanfictions (even the readers that don't comment). i am just feeling unsure of this one!_

 _have a wonderful week everyone! xxx good luck to people that have exams this month._

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Thirteen: I Might Be Better?

* * *

Audrey came back two days later with his homework. After trying to comprehend what his English assignment meant, Clement decided to refuse to do it on the basis that he didn't have a _home_ to do his homework to begin with.

Something miraculous had happened over the three days Clement was in hospital… he had begun to develop a _personality_.

Unfortunately, it was not particularly a great one. Yesterday, nurse Janine told him off for being a stick up the arse.

Clement said that he hoped that it was more comfortable that the stick up his urethra.

"I was hoping that I'd see you again," Clement said when she walked into the room. He then went red, because he realised how that must sound like to a pretty lass like Audrey. "Not in the 'I was hoping to see you again because I am captivated by you despite only meeting you once' way but rather the 'I have no friends, so I am glad that I have a visitor' way."

"It's nice to see you too," Audrey decided to say with a soft smile. "How are you doing?"

Clement nodded his head. "I'm doing well considering I still haven't found out how to pay my hospital fees."

Staring inexplicably into the dark void apparently did not come cheap. Clement wondered where he could leave his review about his hospital experience.

 _Awful service. They couldn't trust me not to urinate on their special bedding, so they gave me a catheter even though as far as I know, I, as a seventeen-year-old bloke, am able to void_. To boot, his roommate was a thirteen-year-old wanker who stole the remote to his bed. He unfortunately discovered that at four in the morning when he sustained a bed-related head injury that, despite the knowledge the episode of Tom and Jerry's Nit-Witty Kitty imparted, did not help remember his identity.

"Oh," Audrey shuffled around uncomfortably. "Well… um… that's unfortunate."

"I'm aware," Clement rolled his eyes. "Unfortunate things tend to be… well—um… _unfortunate_."

Audrey glared at him. "You're making me want to punch you in the face." He gestured towards himself, as if he was practically daring her to do this. "But I'm afraid that your head can't possibly swell up anymore without it being critical."

"How kind of you," he said, rubbing his arm and leaning against his side.

"Git," Audrey said. Clement smiled. He agreed. He started to realise what a prat he was. It felt good to feel like _himself_.

"Midget," Clement replied. Her jaw dropped, but he just shrugged. "What? I'm just stating a fact."

He was thinking last night about all the things he'd tell her if he'd ever saw her. Well, that all evapourated into nothing, thank you very much. But he was also glad that he had something to do besides stare at the wall paint slowly chip and peel away. In his spare time, he also watched his numb existence slowly fade away from his fingertips.

Audrey cleared her throat when they lapsed into an uncomfortable thirty second silence.

"Um…I heard from the doctors that you had a guardian they had to contact," she said. "Have they heard from her?"

Clement shook his head. "The doctors said they'll send someone to look for her," he explained, crossing his arms over his chest. "But considering I can't stand the ruddy woman, I wouldn't really mind if they never find her."

He could send someone after her but finding a five-stone five-foot tall woman was a tremendous feat. Fortunately, she did have more undifferentiated bulbous skin eruptions than a dermatology textbook.

He bet that if they confronted her about this, she'd be _boiling_ with rage. Get it? Boils? _Boiling?_

"Why don't you like her?" Audrey asked, pulling Clement back from his thoughts.

 _"Hmm,"_ Clement considered this. "Well, she seems to tell the people that—my mates that have apparently kidnapped me—that they should attempt to kill me in my sleep. So, I suppose that's where the resentment comes from."

"You have a very colourful life for someone that doesn't remember anything," Audrey finally sat down. Clement hadn't even noticed that she'd been standing all this time. Did she initially plan to leave after she gave him three stacks of torture? She cleared her throat. "I thought…well, since I've felt bad about trying to exploit you, I just…I thought that—"

Clement wasn't used to people being so nervous and twitchy talking to him. He was an amnesiac that butchered himself and had his arse crack fused to the bed. _WHY_ would anyone be frightened to talk to him?

"Well," Audrey cleared her throat, crossing her arms over her chest. "I was thinking that you could use this as a clean slate? Rather than focus on who you used to be, you just try to… be someone that you would _like_ to be?"

"Oh," Clement cocked his head to one side. "That sounds… nice."

"It can't be that great worrying about how much you don't know," Audrey's words made so much sense to him.

Clement felt like he had been enlightened. "I've never thought about it like that," he decided to say. He felt good inside.

"Yeah?" Audrey moved to sit at the end of his bed. "Would Clement Charlie Jones like help with his homework?"

Clement felt uninspired to do his homework. He couldn't shake this feeling that the papers were supposed to mean more than they did. He felt like he should be fussed about it, but he couldn't bring himself to care much.

The next few hours disappeared. Audrey helped him with his Maths first.

He'd had to learn how to add, multiply, subtract and divide just a month ago. Now, this letter bollocks were irritating him. Solve for _x_ , and _x_ was busy being… if he was to be so disgustingly uncouth, gang-banged by two integral functions.

" _X_ should solve its own bloody problems," Clement was perspiring and rubbing his wet face with his arm.

Today, Audrey was wearing a frock that practically matched Clement's hospital gown. He noticed in the way that Clement noticed that the milk tasted watery, and that the room smelled like someone's rectal cream. Not that Clement himself had applied cream on his rectum before. Surely, something _that_ ghastly should only be reserved for one's excoriated bum, he thought! Um… said the bloke that had infected wounds covered in enough foul-smelling pus and blood as congealed as Cornish clotted cream. He'd been sat there in the cot, slowly fermenting His bandages practically turned pale yellow in just a few token hours. But on the bright side, at least he could say that he was _in stitches_ from laughter!

His History homework was even worse. He tried to draw a bear, but it ended up looking like it had more problems than _X_.

He was dangerously close to falling asleep, and the thought of having to read another paragraph about this rich bloke that had the same name as his great great great grandfather made him want to stick a pen into his eye sockets from sheer and utter boredom. He momentarily wondered if his old self would have done that. Stick a pen in his eyes. For _fun_ … mental.

"Are they talking about me?" Clement had wondered, his shoulder barely able to support his big fat head.

The humour drained off Audrey's face. "Yes, they are," she was uncomfortably rubbing her hands together. Not a wonderful sign. "Mostly in the context _did you know what crazy thing the new bloke did on the first day of school?_ They said that you'd probably fling yourself off the window if you were forced to attend one of Mr Richardson's classes."

Clement groaned. "When you said I could be what I wanted to be, I didn't fancy being the most mental bloke in school."

Audrey just went red. "Yes, well…" she looked guilty. "I didn't know that you were this…I don't know—you don't seem mental. You seem normal. I can't imagine what situation would make you want to tear up your stitches."

"Have you seen them?" Clement wondered. He'd felt like everyone in the ward had practically memorised them by now, including an eight-year-old girl that cried _THAT'S DISGUSTING_ yesterday for four hours when the nurses were dressing him up. The nurses always groaned when they had to strip his bandages down and redo them. His bandages were increasingly going from tightly bound to _can't be arsed to do this again_. Clement's bandages came undone three hours ago just because he sneezed. They tried to call a code for him because they thought he might start bleeding again.

"I've taken pictures, remember?" Audrey looked peaky now, thinking about it. "Looks like a crime scene from a film."

"Film of _what?"_ Clement raised an eyebrow.

Audrey looked shocked. "You don't know what a film is? The things that you watch on a telly?" she pointed to the telly.

Clement knew what a telly was. "The nurses call that a _television show_ ," he didn't understand what it was 'showing'. He also felt a little dumb trying to become excited about watching the adventures of a cat trying to catch a mouse. Was it supposed to make him feel better about his intelligence? "Isn't that right?"

He'd never gotten the term _what's on the telly?_ either. All you had to do was look to know, right?

"Yes but see shows have _episodes_ —with a continuous storyline that progresses with each installment," she tried to explain. Clement felt like he'd rather be doing Maths again. X was less complicated than that stupid television set. "Films only have one story… unless there's a sequel, or it's part of a series. Or a prequel. You can see films in the _cinema_ too."

Audrey looked shocked. "Were you living under a rock in your past life?"

He rubbed the back of his head. "I believe I lived in a farm," he said. "Maybe there's no tellies there. Or cinemas."

Clement cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, but I'm finding it hard to convince myself that's a word," _cinemas!_ Was that really English? It sounded like someone that was greatly intoxicated trying to say the word _cinnamon_ before he fell into a coma. Except he also had a learning impairment and believed cinnamon had an _s_ in it… obviously, solve for _S_.

"What? Cinemas?" there she said it again. "It's a word! I'm sure _Expelliarmus_ is a word!"

Clement felt like that word was vaguely familiar. Though he doubted it was pronounced as _expel 'yer anus_. "Did I say that?"

He wanted to irrigate his wounds to the point where he tried to soap them up as if that would cure the bacteria inside of him. He wanted to expel the things in his anus because he wanted to be empty and pure, just like all the special snowflakes in the ward. The ones that had a crush on their best mate's boyfriend and felt like their life was a vortex of misery.

"Yes, _in your sleep!"_ Audrey sighed deeply. "Like something about Severus Snape being a traitor. Really. You should be given a pen when you're asleep. Maybe _you'll_ write a children's book. What with a name like _Severus Snape…?"_

Snape. Snape. Severus Snape indeed. Clement was sure that Marcus, Adrian and Cassius talked about a Severus Snape once. _Expel yer severed sniper from yer anus for two-pounds-fifty today ONLY!_

He also wondered when she'd managed to catch him sleeping. Really? He was mental? She was stalking him!

Clement shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe they'll be turned into the films for the cinemas."

He took the time to notice that he had not yet said her name and she hadn't said his yet. Well, _he_ wasn't saying hers first.

 _"Cinema,"_ Audrey corrected incredulously. "God, I can't believe that I'm trying to teach someone what a cinema is... there are four-year olds that understand what a film is! Honestly, what did you do in the farm all day?"

There was this thing that he had called _amnesia_. As in he had forgotten and couldn't remember for love or for money—not that he currently had either, just a note for those that were not following his lonely sad existence.

 _"Don't focus on your past!"_ Clement yelled in an eerily high-pitched voice. "Clean slate! _Be who you want to be!"_

"That is not how I sound like!" Audrey just huffed at him, but Clement was smirking over at her.

His smirk disappeared in a few seconds. "What's a God?" Clement had to ask, to which she just looked at him like he was taking the piss out of her. As if what he'd just asked her was _sacrilegious_ … which at the time, he didn't know it _was_.

"Are you an atheist?" she wondered. Clement understood more from the comatose bloke three beds down.

He was sweating because he was not being told that he was taking an exam every time she came to visit!

"Yes, the anaesthetist saw me ages ago," he replied. "He had to put me to sleep so that they can do the operation?" Clement still hadn't the daftiest clue what they'd done in that procedure.

"Every time I think that maybe you're a lot smarter than I originally thought, you say things like _this!"_ Audrey shook her head. "I don't know how you could look at me like you've never heard of a World War in your entire life and act like numbers don't exist where you've come from but _then_ talk to me in the most condescending tone possible!"

" _I'm_ not being condescending. This is my personality… I can't just simply return it to the shops!" Clement scoffed.

"I suppose you can't," Audrey said lightly. "Can't imagine you'd be able to work out the maths on the return policy!"

His doctors not knowing what to do with him, now that he had no guardian and they weren't sure if he could consent to saying no to having fake skin grafted on his stitchy body. His skin infection was getting better, which is marvellous news. Even better news was that the nurses felt so bad at him being there by himself that they've bought him new clothes. His new clothes were approximately ten sizes too big to accommodate for the fact that nothing should be compressed against his gooey, crusty gashes (say that five times and maybe you'd vomit a little in your mouth).

Clement was wearing stripped green pyjamas that still smelled new. They even got him a comb because his hair had knotted to the point where he'd require a surgeon just to untangle his curls.

They did bring social services in after a few days. Clement wished he'd known what to say for that exam!

Fortunately, they accepted the answers _no, I don't remember anything, I'm feeling fine thank you_ and _I attend the London Fox-Palmer Academy… or was it the London Palmer-Fox Academy?_ Not knowing the name of his institute did not make them think that he was intellectually disabled. At least Clement didn't think so since they hadn't started contracting their sentences and using the word 'achy' instead of 'pain'. And Audrey thought that _HE_ was being condescending!

How patronising was it when you asked a seventeen-year-old if he had an _achy belly_?

Audrey felt uncomfortable when she came inside with two hulking blokes were sat at the end of his bed asking questions. Clement just nodded his head at every two or three sentences and answered _I don't remember_ to most questions. Considering he had no living relative and they couldn't track down Carrow, they were arranging to find an appropriate home for him.

But if he was eighteen, he believed their response would be: _you're an adult now. Find your own bloody place to live._

"I doubt that that's the case," Audrey said when Clement told her about what happened in the visit. He had a hard time even remembering the questions they'd asked him! "Not to be rude but _you_ aren't in the right headspace to be making life-altering decisions, Charlie. The doctors have said that you've had a _traumatic brain injury_. Even if you're seventy, I'm sure they'd be more comfortable if there was someone to take care of you. I've heard brain cells can't grow again."

She called him Charlie. It felt… familiar. He felt warm hearing that name.

"If brain cells can't grow again, I don't know why I'm being made to do Maths!" Clement mumbled in irritation.

Audrey was swaying uncomfortably. "Don't worry. Today, we're doing _my_ homework," she said. "I have an English test tomorrow."

Clement wondered if she was the one that was dumb if she'd come to him for help on her test. The only thing that he'd be great at was analysing what colour underpants Nurse Cheryl was wearing that morning underneath her white nurse's uniform. Apparently, being trapped in a room with a thirteen-year-old had destroyed his ability to be mature too.

"Can I stay with you?" Clement finally asked, to which Audrey balked. "Instead of them trying to find me a home, I can... I can just stay with you, can't I?"

"You do know that we've known each other for approximately five days?" she'd asked him, to which he nodded.

"Yes, I can count up to five… but I think it's closer to six days," Clement replied, to which she laughed. Her laugh made him feel about as warm as he felt like when she'd called him Charlie. "Would your parents be alright with it?"

Audrey looked nervous. "I don't know," she said, sounding hesitant. "Can we not talk about it?"

He didn't know why that rubbed her the wrong way. Clement wondered if he'd done something wrong. "Why not?" he asked softly.

"You don't just ask people if they could live in your house indefinitely," she sounded offended that he'd even asked!

"What would you do, Audrey?" Clement asked, and Audrey ignored him. "It's easy for you to say what I'm _not_ supposed to do but when I'm waiting for you to give me advice about what to do, you don't want to—"

"I'm not your social worker," Audrey replied. "They'd find you some place to stay. Probably in a foster care since you can legally stay there until you're eighteen, you know? Besides, I don't know why it matters so much to you. It doesn't look like you're leaving any time soon." She nodded towards Clement's bandages, to which he just flushed.

Clement felt apprehensive. He didn't feel like he could trust many people now, could he? And he didn't know what foster care even was!

"If I let you write about me in the magazine, would you ask your parents about letting me stay?" Clement answered.

"It's just…it's hard for me to grasp that you have no idea how socially inept you actually are," Audrey admitted.

Clement didn't say anything. He felt really happy seeing Audrey the past few days, but this really hurt him deeply.

Audrey paused, and looked like she'd contemplated about it for a second before she just shook her head. Clement couldn't help but feel like he'd come from a completely different planet. He didn't like feeling this unsure of himself. He thought that he wouldn't feel this unsure again, but now, he felt confused. He shrunk down into his sheets. Was he socially inept because of his brain injury, or was he always like this? Because he wasn't as gullible as he was before. He was starting to understand a little.

"Good luck on your exam tomorrow," was all he said. Honestly, Clement was just glad that she stayed.


	14. A Million Summers Ago at the Burrow

_i'm so overwhelmed by the super supportive, amazing responses i've gotten in the last chapters. wow... thank you so much for your kind words! i'm sorry for the long wait for these chapters but i had to write maybe 1-2 chapters in advance of this fanfiction to really feel confident about where i'm taking it (i am only really 1 chapter ahead and i have about 1/2 a chapter from chapters 16 & 17 just so i don't forget where i'm going with this.) _

_i tried to re-edit this twice. this chapter was super hard for me to edit, so i'm assuming there are some mistakes that i missed! i apologise for them._

 _ **comment replies:**_

 _ **courgette96** : i totally understand about 'real life' getting in the way. i feel like sometimes i stall updates for that reason alone. exam period should be soon so it's either i will disappear or update loads or continue updating regularly (depending on whether or not i have pre-written some chapters beforehand). i think you mentioned liking the small details before and i was absolutely over the moon that you notice that and i still am! you're too sweet. i loved reading your analysis of my writing style. i do write loads of emotions, because i feel like it makes characters more palatable if you understand their thinking process especially in something as distressing as your brother being missing or losing your memory. lots of this fanfiction is just going to be purely Percy's personality growth as someone that has some kind of magical brain damage. i do still want to continue this story because i have a very specific direction i hopefully am going to take this to and i hope that it goes as well as i'm hoping for it to go in my head. even though that particular plotline will be hellish for me to write._

 _ **morganna12** : thank you so much. _

_**Faa** (i had to use Google Translate for your review, i don't really know any Spanish and i know Google Translate does a choppy job!): thank you so much for your kind words. hopefully, i will finish these stories, though it usually takes me ages... i'll have loads of time when i graduate from uni this year (hopefully)._

 _ **Phoenixx Rising** : i love awkward meetings. because i can easily imagine it... i can't imagine Percy is the kind to go out of his way to maintain a conversation with a stranger. i'm so ecstatic that you like the fact that i specifically put Charlie in his name because i am so happy about that. again, i just really want to thank you for the really long and detailed PM that you sent me. it was super sweet and thoughtful of you to do that! i am super grateful.  
_

 _ **"Lover of Percy" Guest** : you most definitely should. i never know who the Guests unless they type in names in the field. thank you for your words. i honestly read it a few times. i do tend to feel bad whenever i deviate from what the summary usually implies, because i never really know unless i start writing what kind of 'Percy' i'm going to write (because all of the ones i write are self-loathing, self-destructive, etc but sometimes, i write him as feeling more neglected sometimes i write him as feeling guilty etc and i never plan it. it just happens naturally with the writing process. his experiences / worries / etc i try to make different with each fanfiction though there is a definite overlap). then depending on the first maybe 5-6 chapters, the story sort of takes on its own even if i've planned it. i do know for some people that's a little annoying especially when the original idea implied something else directly! to be honest, i read loads of Percy fanfiction, but i find that most of the ones where Percy is portrayed in the 'oh woe is me' type that i like are oneshots rather than long-standing fiction. _

* * *

**Muggle Me**  
Chapter Fourteen: A Million Summers Ago at the Burrow

* * *

Molly's stomach was ached like she'd just scoffed off a one-knut cheese and onion pasty. Percy's room smelled like a cleaning factory _exploded_. There was a sickeningly sweet perfume scent and she felt like a third year in her dorm room all over again. It had been days since she'd started cleaning and she'd already been attacked by detergent-driven doxies!

Twenty percent off your soapy spiders and their webs of wittiness if you order _NOW!_

After trying to scrape off precipitated solid bits of perfume from the wall, Molly felt like giving up. The floor was covered in more cleaning products than there was in that _Clean, Clean, Keep the Planet Green_ stall at Diagon Alley. She didn't know his OCD was so bad that he practically spent his money on cleaning products that he hoarded in his room.

Last night, the family was discussing how obsessive Percy had been before the row. It was horrible, knowing how much of his habits she'd ignored under the guise of _that's just how Percy's like!_

"Percy's probably the only person in the world that could go into a coma because of a dungbomb," Fred said last night.

Molly shuddered at the thought of that. "Don't worry, mum," George said, noting her distress. "Percy didn't use normal bathrooms. I'm pretty sure he became a prefect, so he could use the cleanest lavatory in Hogwarts!"

"How do you know how clean the prefect's bathrooms are?" Ginny asked, mouth was full of mashed potatoes.

She could hardly believe the fact that she'd just let Percy stop going to see the healers when he was so poorly.

 _I am not going back to that man_ , Percy had told her when she'd tried to calm him down and ask what happened. _I do not have to justify my answers with long flowery prose, mother. I am not getting better with his 'treatment'_. But he _was_ , Molly wanted to say.

But how could she say that? When Percy had a _mental_ problem? _Oh, so you've gone into my head now? You know how I feel?_

Molly wished she was more verbal when it came to Percy. But seeing as how her other children's favourite pastime was to mock anything that he found interesting, most of his childhood was spent with him having temper tantrums in his room. There were many times that she had to bring his dinner upstairs where she'd find him sat on his bed with his arms crossed, fuming. He looked adorable, sitting there in his broomstick pyjamas, telling her that he hoped that an Exploding Snap made George lose an ear, so he could stop eavesdropping on his conversations with Bill and Charlie. When he was upset, his voice got loud enough that she bet that the Lovegood's could hear little Percy's nasally voice miles off.

He didn't talk as much, growing up. Every time she came upstairs with a cup of tea to calm him down, he told her to leave.

It was her fault Molly reckoned. She'd been jealous that he was quick to tell this-this… stranger what was on his mind. Because what was so bad that he had to tell a complete stranger but couldn't tell _his own mother?_ Molly had become convinced that he was talking about how horrible she was! _What else_ could he be talking about that he didn't want to tell her about?

Molly looked around Percy's room, remembering the weeks after he let the whole family know that he decided he wasn't going to see his healer again.

He was in his fifth year when it happened. That summer, Percy also decided to challenge himself by staying in his bed so long that his arse had become permanently fused with his baby blue bed-sheets. Well, they used to be a darker colour, but Percy had managed to wash the colour out of them! He'd even found the dress robes she'd worn for her wedding—those were white again. _In fact,_ they were whiter than when she'd bought them off the shop!

All Percy did that summer was reconnect with all four walls of his bedroom and polish his badge until it glowed.

Oh, and he also wrote long owls to that Penelope sort! Molly was curious as to what they were talking about. He got an owl every morning! Most girls that Molly knew didn't naturally gravitate towards a spotty, fifteen-year-old bloke with radioactive-looking red hair and glasses that were bigger than the rest of him. She half-wondered if he'd gotten around to…thrashing about the dragon with this girl. What would she say if she knew? _I hope you're using protection?_

 _As if_ she had to worry about him using protection! He was probably terrified of contracting an STD just thinking about it!

 _Did he tell his healer about this Penelope girl?_ Molly wondered. _I don't even know what she's like! Are you seeing her? Are you just friends? You've never mentioned having friends before. Is she using you and making you write her assignments, love? Godric, Percy, why are you keeping this a secret from me? You've changed since you've met her! I… I barely recognise you these days!_

She wished she could talk to him about this. Unfortunately, _HE_ was moodier than Muriel during her menopause!

When she told one of her friends this, they looked at her like she was crazy: _isn't he mental? Aren't they all moody?_

Her son was one of the smartest students in his school. But to her friends, he was reduced to _that one that was mental!_

"Mother, did you come in here to look at me or do you have something to say?" Percy was in an awful mood then—as he had been since he'd come back from his last appointment with his psychiatric healer. It wasn't until a week later that they'd probably talked about it. Percy kept on telling her he wanted to be alone and she respected that. But to be honest, Molly was also in a right mood after seeing her friends in the café. He'd been caging himself in his room, turning more bitter by the hour. "I do have some actual things to do right now and I would prefer not to be disturbed until dinnertime."

Currently, Percy spent his time re-organising his already organised books. His room looked like it was ready to be advertised in _Witch Weekly_ with the tagline 'Organise your space! Never lose your frumpy knickers ever again!'

Merlin knew what that healer said during their confrontation that made him _this_ irritated.

"Percival," she remembered saying to him. She was deeply worried about him, since she wasn't sure what to do with his illness. "I heard from the twins that you've just stormed in saying you've decided to stop going to your healer last week!"

"Yes, that's correct," he was wearing oversized purple-coloured pyjamas. He looked like a tall Puffskein with freckles.

"And you've not been to an appointment since!" Molly was worried.

Percy rolled his eyes, which was rude. "Yes, mother, _that's_ what happens when you decide to stop going to your healer."

"You can't just stop going to your healer just because you don't like what he's saying, love… you have a _serious condition_ ," Molly kept her voice as soft as possible. "You need _HELP_ for it! Washing every dish, cleaning every surface, getting your bedspread washed at three in the morning…and those blisters on your hands! You look like you were caught between your father trying to heat up his leftovers with a heating charm and an Ashwinder coming to life from flames!"

He was unmoved. "As if that situation could ever happen, mother." She'd like to note that this was his rebellious phase.

"You've gotten worse since you've stopped going!" Molly was shocked at that. "In a matter of _DAYS_ _!_ You're worse now than you were when we've told you to go off to get help! Did you even _SLEEP_ last night? The twins spent years accumulating that level of waste in the house and you've managed to clear it out _whilst they were asleep!"_

Percy turned red. He was embarrassed that he'd been caught trying to sterilise the biscuit tin. After he threw all the biscuits out. Horrible. They'd been exposed to air for more than three seconds and were not safe for consumption.

"Do you understand how difficult it is to watch you do this?" Molly asked. "It's horrible seeing you like this."

Molly might want to tear off Bill's earring and she might shriek whenever she was confronted with a new patch of burned skin on Charlie's forearms, _BUT_ she didn't think she could just _watch_ Percy spiral into his obsessive-compulsive disorder. He barely ate because he was afraid the food was contaminated. As he turned to stack his fifth book, Molly grabbed one of his hands just to see how red and contorted his hands looked like. Honestly, Muriel had better-looking hands…and she had _arthritis!_

"Percival," she looked at him with discontentment. "This is getting ridiculous! When will you admit this is a problem?"

"I know it's a problem, but I'm not seeing him about it again," Percy huffed. "I don't appreciate his attitude."

"Attitude!" Molly found this ludicrous. " _YOU'RE_ one to talk, love… you're starting to sound like a toddler! _I don't want to go to my psychiatric healer because he's said something that I don't' like!_ What has he said to you that was so…?"

Percy refused to look at her. As if all his problems would be solved if he didn't make eye contact with his mum.

"Percy?" Molly's voice was soft. "Sweetheart…" she moved a little closer to him.

"Mother, I'd prefer not to talk about it," he sounded unsure, like he'd just been called out by a teacher.

Molly frowned. "Percival, I'm _worried_ about you." She kept on having nightmares of waking up in the middle of the night to find out that Percy had been washing his hands to the point where the skin had stripped away. She didn't know if he knew when to stop. "What did he say? You know you can tell me anything? I'm _your mother_ , Percival."

Percy was holding the book so tightly that his knuckles went white.

"He thinks I have PTSD," Percy admitted. "Because _I've_ been so wrongfully treated! _Can you believe it?"_ he spat out coldly.

She just stared at him vacantly. Of course, she knew what PTSD was. She remembered the first war vividly. There were two members of the old Order of the Phoenix that had killed themselves after the war. The emptiness thinking about all the _horrible_ things that had happened and how she felt selfish she couldn't be happy after despite all the things her brothers did to make sure they didn't suffer. She didn't think that her son had PTSD… but she could be wrong! He'd been five at the time of the war. He was quiet and secluded, but he'd _always_ been like that. He'd always wanted to be tidy, but he'd gone from not wanting his food to touch to feeling nauseous when it rained. That happened _YEARS_ after the war.

She believed that she'd really started noticing when he came back from his first year over at Hogwarts! She just thought he had trouble _adjusting_ to being in school. Could he get PTSD from how the twins were treating him? Molly wasn't sure.

"Oh, Percy… love," Molly's voice was soft. "Do you really believe that?"

He looked at her and she should've asked more about what made the healer think that, but she didn't say anything.

"Of course not!" he replied so confidently that she let out a breath she was holding in.

She felt relieved then, but now, she felt horrible for the fact that she didn't pursue it. Because psychiatric healers just didn't think you had PTSD out of nothing, did they? Molly was sure they had loads of criteria written down for that. Criteria that Percy at least _seemed_ to fit it. There had to be something that would've made them think that. Something _important_.

Either way, she knew he was suffering from obsessive-compulsive disorder. Didn't something have to happen for you to be so fixated about cleanliness and tidiness to such extremes? She couldn't imagine George just waking up one day, deciding to check and recheck his lights unless Merlin forbid, something _awful_ happened. Something… something _unspeakable_.

It couldn't just be a normal part of his personality. They did call it an obsessive-compulsive _disorder_.

Molly knew that Percy knew that his OCD was a problem. He told her on multiple occasions he didn't enjoy not being able to sleep because a glumbumble buzzing in his brain told him to go clean all the broomsticks in the house. Arthur chose to keep his shed locked because he was terrified what Percy would do if he saw three layers of dust accumulated in one place.

He broke her out of her thoughts and then tentatively said, "Mum, if there is something… something awful that…?"

Molly felt like jumping up, like there was a cauldron about to bubble over and explode. She hadn't expected him to sound like that or say anything. She'd never seen him like this, so confused and angry at himself. Suddenly, the fact that he looked like he'd had his hand maimed by an overenthusiastic Norwegian Ridgeback didn't matter as much.

"Yes?" Molly was apprehensive. "You know you can let me know if something was bothering you… right?"

His face turned expressionless in seconds. "Of course, mother," Percy promised. "Do you really believe otherwise?"

"No," Molly believed him. "Now, go wash up. Your father wants to take you and Bill out for dress robes for your uncle Clarence's wedding. He's going to marry that fiendish woman that tried to sneak her paws onto Fabian before he died."

Percy looked disgusted. "Mum, Lucy is not a _fiendish woman!"_

The rest of the summer was unremarkable. He left the wedding before the bridge and groom came because the twins had managed to destroy his dress robes within twenty minutes of the reception. Percy was happy that they were up to their shenanigans that day. He'd never liked weddings—but he especially wasn't in the mood for Clarence and Lucy's wedding!

Right now, Molly was speechless as she reminisced those times. Ever since Fred and George brought up the topic of that psychiatric healer a few days back, she couldn't bear to come to terms with the fact that she'd never pushed Percy to go back to the healer. Or even get a new one! She felt like the world's worst mother for just trying to accommodate Percy's OCD. With all the things happening during the time with Ron getting in trouble with Harry Potter, she'd barely given it a second thought especially when all Percy could talk about was the stress of taking his O.W.L's.

He was ill, and she knew that he was, but she'd just ignored it. Until she—and everyone else—barely noticed it anymore!

There were times where he'd even come back from the night, muddy and Percy waited a whole two minutes before changing his clothes! He'd stopped wearing gloves when he was eating. Percy had even been alright with eating mushy food like cottage pie and didn't seem put off by her homemade gravy like he usually was.

He seemed _normal_ , Molly tried to tell herself. His hands looked less swollen when he came back from Hogwarts.

But what if that healer knew something about Percy they didn't? What if it was too late? What if he was hurt… _or worse?_

Lost in her thoughts, Molly tried to go back to cleaning that mess. She carried one of Percy's stacked boxes out of his room. They were so damp they were leaking, so she thought to leave them out to dry before she put them back into his room. She was so lost in thought she had missed her step and tripped, slipping straight into the carpet. _OW!_

Her nose! Probably crooked and deformed… she had no desire to look like Severus Snape thank you very much!

A flashback of her as a fifth year trying out for the Quidditch team—she'd been rocketed straight out of her Nimbus and had been sure for the next three months that she'd dislocated her shoulder because it click-clicked like one of Arthur's toasters! At five-foot-four, she couldn't reach the top shelf in her Hogwarts' dormitory without collapsing in pain. Well, she soldiered—or really, _shouldered_ … on. Fortunately, now, she needn't bother! Molly was sure Merlin's gift to her was that most of her sons could reach the top shelf without having to engage in vigorous aerobics!

The contents of Percy's boxes were all over the floor! _PERFECT!_ As if having to clean his room wasn't enough, now she had to tend to this mess in the hallway. Molly sighed in exasperation. She felt like giving up already.

Molly sat up, rubbing her nose. As if she could stand a nose deformity! Her strawberry-blonde hair was as tangled as ever. She'd probably lost three limited edition chocolate frog wrappers in them a few years back. Wonderful.

When she stared at the objects on the floor, she felt a sadness fill her body.

There was stacks of wet, old assignments that Percy had tucked away. All of them top marks of course. Molly was worried that Percy would rather collect assignments rather than family photos, bad birthday gifts and the sweaters that she made them every Christmas. At his worst, he refused to wear that as well! Instead of saving toys from his childhood, he kept the ever-twinkling star chart that Molly employed when he was six to get the four-year-old twins to do more chores at the house. All that did was make Percy a very efficient house-elves that traded socks for stickers!

Molly felt her throat swell up when she'd managed to notice a glistening _something_ in the box.

Hands shaky, she reached over to pull out an old knife that had disappeared ages ago! She had maybe two knives in the whole house—so losing one knife didn't go unnoticed. The blade looked seriously jagged, and she wondered what on Merlin's good Earth could twist a knife to the point of being indistinguishable. It smelled strongly of something soapy.

Molly placed the knife down, feeling a cold, hard stone settle in her abdomen. _Why_ would Percy have a knife in his room?

Thoughts raced into her mind, colliding with one another. A million possibilities arose in her head. She felt so nauseated as the knot in her stomach grew tighter and tighter, to the point where she found it difficult to _breathe_.

"Mum?" Molly looked up to see Charlie standing there, looking worried. That was usually her job. "What's wrong?"

"Percy has… he has…" Molly stammered in disbelief. "Percy has a _KNIFE_ in his room."

 _"What?"_ Charlie looked pale almost, staring at the box and seeing the knife. He picked it up and tried to inspect it.

Molly felt her lip quivering. Did he want to hurt himself? Did he want to hurt someone else? What could distort a knife this badly? All Molly could think of was if he tried ramming it down a Whomping Willow… they'd definitely know if he tried to do that. Considering he'd probably be in a coma in the hospital.

"Mum, maybe… maybe there's-there's a good explanation for this," even Charlie's hand was shaking.

All she could think about was how Percy hadn't replied to her owl yet. It had been months. She was terrified of sending him another one. One she could say he'd just not gotten. Two meant that he was doing it _on purpose._

"Yes, he was guarding it just in case it walked out of the house!" Molly was surprised by the own emptiness in her voice. There was no good explanation for having a pulverised knife in your room. "Why… why would he have a _knife_ for?"

She'd wished so many times in the past three minutes alone that she'd let him climb into her bed when he was six instead of telling him that he was too old to rely on her for comfort now. She wished he had sent more owls to Hogwarts, asking about how he was doing instead of relying on him to tell her about what disaster Harry and Ron had managed to get themselves into this time around. Molly wished she'd noticed when he'd first started to wash his hands to the point where it was red. Molly wished that she'd tried to find out what he was thinking about when he'd told Arthur about that Merlin forsaken promotion. She'd rather him actually spy and betray the family ten times over than-than have… _this_ happening!

It was horrible discovering bits and pieces of someone after they'd gone missing. And just the sheer thought… what was he doing now? Being tortured? Was he dead in a ditch somewhere? Were they too late? What did he need _right now?_

The wondering made her feel empty and hollow on the inside. Molly spent her _whole day_ wondering…

"Mum, Penelope is downstairs," Charlie said to try and calm her down. "Maybe she knows something about all of this."

Normally, this news would have her jumping for joy—the thought that someone knew a piece of the puzzle, but she felt broken and empty on the inside. Charlie helped her up, and rubbed her shoulder, telling her that she should go draw herself a bath and wear something nice. That Penelope wasn't going anywhere. She was Percy's mum. She should know more than anyone where he'd be at. Where he'd go if he was in trouble now, wouldn't she? Molly felt hollow on the inside. She'd been in the same house robes for three days but she thought that anyone noticed since all her robes looked alike.

After a shower, she didn't feel much better, but she felt less hysterical. Molly couldn't believe that this nineteen-year-old girl probably knew more about Percy than his whole family did. She felt shameful. Why didn't he come to _her?_

Molly had seen Penelope before but never really looked at her. Had she really not noticed how beautiful she was?

Penelope was practically close to being one of Primpernelle's models. Each individual curl on her hair looked was gleaming golden. Her eyes were a sweet honey that could make a diabetic choke, and her skin so flawless that it practically looked unnatural from how smooth it was! Did this girl really know her Percy? Molly was finding that hard to believe.

"Mrs Weasley!" Penelope looked apologetic. "I'm sorry to see you on these unfortunate circumstances…"

She didn't say anything. She felt rude, so she shook Penelope's hand, said a quiet _it's not your fault_ and then poured tea.

Molly wondered how Percy and Penelope would've met. You had this almost exceedingly charming woman meeting her son, who was not traditionally handsome. He wondered how they'd managed to have a conversation since most of Percy's conversations with Molly started with _leave me alone, mother_ and _I'm fine._

"Do you take sugar in your tea?" Molly nodded, and then levitated one of the sugar pots over to her. She added three teaspoons, and then took a sip. Grimaced and added another two lumps of sugar.

Maybe they met in a club where people used five to seven lumps of sugar in their tea.

"Thank you," Penelope tried to ignore the tension in the room that was so thick you could cut it with Percy's knife.

Molly cleared her throat and sat down to sip her tea. It was warm, but it barely brought her any sense of comfort. Today's owl was a bloke mentioning how many spells he'd use to torture her child, her nineteen-year-old child. Molly felt ill just thinking about some of the descriptions that he'd had on. Merlin, and they were the good people that didn't like Death Eaters? She was sure that even Bellatrix Lestrange would become ill reading some of the things being sent to her!

"This is a nice house," Penelope decided to start with small talk. "It's very… homey."

"Yes, well, it _is_ a home," Molly was crestfallen. Charlie cleared his throat, turning red.

Molly tried to focus on something else... she tried to wonder about what kind of mischief the rest of her children were up to. Bill was nowhere to be found for a whole two hours. That was enough time to get him in trouble with the Wizengamot she was sure!

"Sorry about that," Charlie told Penelope. "Mum is usually _very nice_ ," he enunciated his words. "But she just found a knife in Percy's room! It looked like I've tried to attack a manticore with it, so that's why she's upset."

"I can speak for myself thank you very much," Molly was sure now knew where Percy's moodiness came from.

Why was he explaining such a sensitive situation to her? Why was he doing it so casually? As if it was every day he found a contorted knife in his brother's room! A brother that was missing! A brother that people sent _death threats to_ _daily_ _now_.

"Oh," Penelope said, looking confused almost. Molly found herself fuming even more.

"Oh?" Charlie repeated, sounding even more confused.

Penelope wasn't shocked. In fact, it was almost as if Charlie just announced they'd found out that Percy was bent. That was the _Oh_ that she sounded out, like a confused _oh, that's all that you know about him?_ _Oh_.

"Um… you _don't_ know about that?" Penelope turned red her voice softening almost. "About… um…"

"You know what Percy was doing with a _KNIFE_ in our house?" Charlie hissed coldly. "Our homey fucking house… and you didn't think to owl us or Floo to the Burrow or have any form of fucking contact when you knew that everyone in the UK thinks that my brother deserves to be slowly tortured because he's a Death Eater?"

 _"Charlie!"_ Molly reddened. Alright, she was all for hating herself for not knowing what Penelope knew, but not like _that_.

Penelope just rolled her eyes. "Yes, because I've been getting _The Daily Prophet_ over at muggle London! I was on holiday for six weeks and came back just to hear one of the healers asked me if I'd actually shagged a Death Eater!"

She flushed immediately and looked back at her cup. "It's ridiculous. People thinking that he's a Death Eater," she huffed.

Molly didn't know how to react. She felt gutted knowing that this nineteen-year-old girl that Molly had barely even seen knew more about Percy than his own family did! How was that okay? It was different _thinking_ that it might be true but seeing how confused she'd been about how little they knew was like twisting that misshapen knife into Molly's chest.

"What…what is it that I don't know about?" Molly felt awful.

For all she'd know, Penelope had been hiding Percy away in her flat. But she wouldn't do that, would she?

Penelope opened her mouth to reply, but then just shook her head. "I can't tell you, Mrs Weasley," she said softly, looking like she desperately wanted to. "He told me all this in confidence. I just…I thought… _I_ can't betray his trust like this."

Charlie looked dumbfounded. "Penny, do you have any idea how much danger he's in right now?"

Penelope looked unnerved that he'd called her that. "I'd need to think about it." Then she added another lump of sugar, and tried to sip her cold tea, even though her hands were shaking a little.


	15. Judy and the Shepherds

_**comment replies:**_

 _ **Guest** : fair enough. i forgot that detail (amongst others) when writing that chapter. i hope you can overlook it... though i did change the summary to include 'AU-ish' now because i keep forgetting these small details in the HP universe. i always do but in this fanfiction they are so many that i just added that to excuse me from forgetting important parts of canon like that. _

_**Lover of Percy** : they are some of my favourite to write too! the next chapter is a Weasley family chapter too. :)  
_

 _ **Son of Whitebeard** : i had to look that up... indeed! _

* * *

**Muggle Me**  
Chapter Fifteen: Judy and the Shepherds

* * *

It was just another day in the hospital. A woman went into cardiac arrest and had to be resuscitated for ten minutes. Someone peed blood in their urine bag. Clement was getting restless having to share a telly with a thirteen-year-old.

He perked up when he saw Audrey walk inside, her light brown hair bound in a tight bun. She had a friend with her.

 _"HEY!"_ the girl said. She had black hair, and it was in a tight black bun too. Clement hoped that this was not their subtle way of saying that they were playing tonsil tennis just outside the door and decided that stuffing their hair into buns would throw him off. Mostly because he was four-eyed and was doped out on morphine. He did _not_ need to be 'thrown off'.

Clement nodded his head mutely. "Hello," he stuck his hand out. She shook his hand. She also had a better grip than him.

"Hello," the girl repeated. She tensed up feeling how swollen and hot his hands were, but she just simply ignored it. this meant she was nice, right? Because only nice people ignored a mental person's hand deformities. "I'm Judy Dencen."

"Charlie," Audrey said to Judy, because Clement couldn't introduce himself. "His name is Charlie."

"Clement Charlie Jones," he corrected, but even the nurses started calling him Charlie now.

Judy nodded her head slowly and then cleared her throat. "I've bought you this," Judy then opened her purse and pulled out a bunch of flattened white roses. He couldn't remember the last time he received nearly dead flowers. "Audrey said that you don't have any parents. I'm really sorry. I can't imagine how awful that must be."

Clement nodded his head. "It's not so bad. But… well, I don't know how to pay for my hospital fees."

If he had a quid for every time he'd said that to Audrey in the past two weeks alone, he'd probably actually be able to pay off his sodding hospital bills. But he'd still be homeless. Even if Clement had room in a boarding school, the social workers weren't keen on having someone no memory and a history of maiming himself stay alone in a room. There was a high risk of him being exploited and feeling like he couldn't reach for support. The social workers came back and told him that they would try to find a family that could adopt him this week. Clement didn't know what family would want to adopt a bloke that was as mental and stupid as he was when they could have a fifteen-year-old genius waiting to be unveiled to the world.

"Do you have to mention _that_ the second that I walk in the room?" Audrey was sick of his financial issues.

Clement just nodded his head. "Do you have to be irritated at my misfortune every time you walk into the room?"

Audrey was tired of listening to him moan about his lack of memories, his inability to understand Maths, and the fact that he didn't have a family that could pay his hospital bills. He should obviously try to concern himself with things that blokes his age cared about. Things like trying to interview a bloke that had a mental breakdown on his first day of school, and then visited a day afterwards because you were drowning in your own guilt and remorse. _Sound familiar?_

"It's… it's not like that," Audrey flustered. She was also tired of Clement making her out to be evil. "It's just…"

"It's better to focus on more positive things?" Judy tried to offer, even though she didn't know the situation.

"Yes! Exactly! I'm… I'm sure the social worker will find you a family!" Audrey said. Because the first thing any member of family wanted to do was pay off costly hospital bills of someone that literally had no memory whatsoever.

"Or they could put you in an orphanage if they don't find anyone," Judy told him. "They let you stay there until eighteen."

Clement's stomach squirmed. So, they'd let him stay there for a year and _then_ they'd kick him out? How nice of them!

"I'm _SO_ lucky," Clement said, and Judy laughed, like the kind of laugh that made him feel warm inside.

"You're funny, Charlie," Judy told him, and then inched closer to him. "Did anyone call you funny?" no, most people called him depressing and told him to lighten up. It could always be worse. He could be _dead_. Or worse… ginger!

Today, Clement had more homework than ever, and he was quickly discovering that he despised actually doing his homework because he was so stupid. It was like he was born in another planet where the word _Galleon_ had a meaning. Apparently, Audrey said he said funny things when he was asleep. Maybe it was a sign of his impending psychosis.

Clement looked at Audrey for a little while. He wondered why she didn't even want to ask her parents about him coming by and living in their house. He was still slightly hurt by how fast she'd rejected him. Clement had learned from his mistake, and he didn't ask Judy—mostly because he wasn't sure if he liked Judy yet. She was a little… _energetic_. Like the kind that you'd expect after you'd downed down three energy drinks and were so sleep-deprived you started to feel like you were floating on a cloud. Or the kind where you were euphoric just before committing a heinous crime. Like stealing his bed remote and then using it to give him another enduring head injury because you were a little prick.

"Do they still talk about me?" Clement asked. "In school? Do they talk about…?"

"No!" Judy replied. "People have moved on from talking about you since Audrey's shorts dropped in the middle of gym."

Clement was confused. They stopped talking about the new bloke that nearly unintentionally killed himself and start talking about a girl whose shorts fell down whilst engaging in sport?

 _"JUDY!"_ Audrey shrieked, because having your shorts drop was… _traumatic_. Clement felt like he needed at least another cylinder of morphine from his patient-controlled analgesia just to ration that out. He felt a migraine coming on.

"She was wearing parachutes for knickers!" Judy yelled. "Obviously, to _soften the blow_ of her deteriorating writer's career."

 _"THAT'S NOT TRUE!"_ Audrey shouted. "My career is _NOT_ deteriorating! I just simply thought that maybe mum was right about using my skills elsewhere. So that's why _I've_ decided to join the football team… which I dropped out of now. Because I'm not practicing with a team where I have to practice with people who have seen me in my knickers."

Apparently, Audrey insisted on playing that day even though they didn't have a uniform for her. Unfortunately, the last girl that joined the team quit after getting a prescription to the Foxy Palms' _Foxy Feisty Female_ weight loss program.

What surprised Clement more was the fact that it was heavily implied she wore another woman's _knickers?_ Who did that?!

"It was so amazing," Judy tried to tell Clement, the tension between them disappearing. "Her knickers were so large."

"You're the worst friend in the history of the world," Audrey said. He thought that was his title. They were _friends_ , right?

How unfortunate that he was too busy trying to get a new home that he couldn't appreciate her wardrobe malfunction! Besides, Audrey wouldn't be in this dilemma if she wore a frock, just like he'd imagined her in when he first saw her.

Yes, it was unfortunate that this girl was publicly humiliated because she was wearing large knickers. Because it was not unfortunate that he was in the hospital because he'd nearly had his stitches gnawed off by his own hands as he tried to pour in cheap soap. He was a bloke that would take a chocolate bar, wash it under the sink and call it _clean eating_. He probably wasn't the best judge of _unfortunate_ situations. And he had no right to be completely discombobulated by this situation.

"Clement?" Audrey noticed the look of disbelief on his face. _Knickers!_ Clement thought ludicrously. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Clement replied bitterly.

"What are you thinking about?" Audrey asked. He didn't know why she bothered asking because she didn't actually want to know the answer to that question. Especially when it was going to upset her!

"I just find it strange," Clement tried not to sound _too_ bitter. "It's fine for your friend to talk about your… well, _that_ … but it is not socially acceptable for me to ask you if you could talk to your mum about having me stay in your house?"

He'd asked Audrey what she'd do in his situation and she had tried to change the subject. It made her uncomfortable thinking about it. How was he supposed to feel about it if she was too uncomfortable to _THINK_ about being in his position? Clement did realise that maybe she just didn't want him to be near her flat, but he just felt… he felt sad about it. He just wanted a stable house where he wasn't in risk of getting bedsores and embolisms from being inactive.

Audrey just went red. "That's not fair!" she replied. "You can't compare to her joke to you asking… _UGH! Charlie!"_

Judy was actually laughing. "Wow," she said. "Hey, Audrey, he's not dumb… much less intellectually disabled."

"I beg your pardon?" Clement went red. He spent most of his time with Audrey flushing and refusing to make eye contact just in case he offended her by breathing. Apparently, she'd been telling her friends that he was intellectually disabled.

"I am not intellectually disabled," Clement said in a bored, almost condescending tone. " _I lost all my memories."_

Audrey just stared at him seriously. "You asked me about _God_ , Charlie."

Clement just cocked his head. "Is _that_ really an assessment of my intellectuality?" he asked.

They thought he was intellectually disabled, but he could also score a hundred percent on his Biology exam without having to prop open a book! Now, _everything else_ on the other hand… that was what he had trouble with!

"Not everyone believes in God," Judy tried to tell her. "Living in a farm, cut off from the rest of the world…maybe _I_ would've never heard of God either." Clement was surprised Audrey told Judy that he used to live in a farm.

Clement gawked at Audrey. "Is there anyone you _haven't_ told about the details of my life?"

"I was _bored_ , alright," seventeen-year-old Audrey said, rolling her eyes. There was something that was unsettling about Audrey sometimes. He felt like her excitement was fake. As if she wasn't being honest to him, or anyone.

Clement felt like Audrey was trying to copy Judy's natural personality.

"I've never noticed that you're trying much too hard to fit into school, _but_ I suppose I haven't been there," Clement said, and Audrey went as red as the shoes that she'd been wearing the first time that he saw her. " _Judy's_ personality is better on Judy than it is on you, Audrey."

Judy laughed like it was the funniest thing that she'd ever heard. "Have you been copying me, Audrey?"

Audrey suddenly shrunk down, and he saw that vulnerability in her face that was the most raw and real thing that he'd ever seen. Clement's heart raced so fast that he felt almost nauseated. "N-n-n… _NO!"_ she said. "I just… well…"

She looked so humiliated that she didn't say anything. Clement supposed he didn't have to say it like _that_ , but…

When Judy left for a moment to get a candy bar from the vending machine—which he believed was the greatest invention known to mankind, he looked at Audrey. The first time he saw her, she had no expression on her face, and had no problem asking him difficult questions. Suddenly, she realised she was an awful human being and then tried to make up for it the next following weeks (did she visit him because she liked him, or she was fulfilling her self-made sentence?). He never saw the return of that stringent reporter personality. Nowadays, she was annoyed at anything that deviated from social convention. Anything questioning what _her_ traditional experiences were had to be stupid. And Clement managed to be so stupid that she genuinely believed that he was intellectually disabled. But now, he saw another layer added to this girl. Enough to make him wonder how Audrey was like stripped of the layers (not sexually that was, but… um… _emotionally_.)

"You didn't realise you were doing it?" Clement asked softly. "Copying her I mean?"

..

"No," Audrey was confused. " _I_ am not copying… I mean—I don't think…? Clement, you're an _arsehole_."

Clement nodded his head. "You're better than this." Audrey looked taken back.

Before he could really talk to this newer new Audrey personality, Judy had returned with cheap biscuits from the machine.

It took approximately three more days but with the sheer power of peer pressure and badgering the bloke from the social services, Clement was glad to say that on a Tuesday morning, he'd had a family that was willing to visit him. When Clement mentioned the hospital bill problem to Dr Michaels (the one person he probably should've mentioned it too instead of telling two seventeen-year-old girls from a boarding school he hadn't really attended yet), he looked shocked that Clement even thought about it in the first place! He didn't know what happened with the bills or who paid them off—if it was taken cared of by the hospital or the government or his shiny new family that was due to visit him that day, but he felt relieved. Clement celebrated by finding the remote to his bed and stealing that prick's retainer for good measure.

Clement was debriefed on his new family that morning. He was told that the mum, Gloria Shepherd, was an intensive care nurse in another hospital, and the father, Stephen, worked in as an accountant. Gloria had _eleven miscarriages_.

"How long have you been here?" was the first question Gloria asked. She looked worried that he'd managed to contract something from his long hospital stay! Well, she was a nurse that worked in intensive care. Surely, if there was anyone that contracted something deadly and resistant to drug management, it was her. "I mean in the hospital?"

"Um…" Clement hadn't really been keeping tally. Was eternity a good answer?

She looked over at his catheter. "Did the doctors told you if you had to keep that in the house?"

Gloria looked like she was assessing a pet and trying to decide whether or not it would urinate on her carpets.

"Long enough that they've decided to check me for bed sores," he hoped that that was a sufficient answer. Survived a fire in the alleyway but died on day infinity from hospital admission because of an infected bed sore. "And I don't think that I need the catheter at all. I can manage to go to the bathroom by myself, but they're… well… they were afraid I might manage to somehow urinate on my bandages." Which made Clement want to wash his mouth out with soap.

Clement had honestly forgotten the concept of colours. He was even paler now than he was when he was profusely bleeding.

"That's unfortunate. A child being checked for bed sores," Gloria said. "Do these nurses even _know_ how to do their jobs?"

That sounded rude. Clement felt protective over the nurses that saw him. Some of them bought him clothes to wear after he got discharged because they felt bad for him. Some of them helped him with his never-ending homework.

Gloria looked over at his catheter, which made him flush even deeper. "A very unfortunate job indeed."

 _Unfortunate!_ Clement reiterated in his mind, thinking of Audrey telling Judy that _he_ was intellectually disabled because he didn't know the same things that she did. Apparently, Gloria must've felt the same way about him because she was cooing at him like he was lucky for making thus far without imminent death. He felt like she would hate to leave him alone for a day just in case he suddenly collapsed of sudden infant death syndrome at ripe age of seventeen.

Stephen cleared his throat. "I'm sure they know how to do their job, love," he sounded like he wanted written proof from the doctor that he had wounds that were large enough for a skin graft. "Where's Dr Michaels now? I'd like to have a talk."

"I would like to as well," Gloria said. "Why has he been in the hospital for nearly _two weeks_ now?"

Clement was going out on an infected, wounded limb here but he didn't think they were very affectionate people.

His boarding school started at August. It was fast approaching September, which felt more like school time. Which was a strange thought to have for a bloke that was home-schooled before, wasn't it? Shouldn't school be year-round for him?

He tried to imagine Gloria and Stephen as teenagers drunk on love but failed. He wondered if there was a time where people called them _Glory and Stevie_ and they all went out for drinks and parties. A time where they made impulsive decisions that they could tell their children about—if they had them, he meant. _Glory and Stevie_ made Clement feel like he need an antiemetic just to swallow something that sweet and corny, but at least it was better than having as much emotion in their bodies as a decayed corpse. Clement did decide to give them a chance when Glory Please Hit me with a Lorry offered to change his bandages.

Gloria didn't even look shocked when she'd peeled away all his bandages and saw how deep her wounds were.

Well, she wasn't shocked at the first one. Or the second. But by the third one, she looked downright disgusted.

"Oh," she looked like she'd just realised that he did this to himself. Because she couldn't convince herself that he'd been in an accident if the word _GIT_ was stretched across his arm with the depth of a Shakespearian read. "I thought you were a victim of a traumatic event. Wasn't that what we were told, Stephen? Something about a _head injury_."

Stephen looked at his arm wounds with such alarm that he looked a little ill. "Oh… um… yes. Yes. A _head injury_."

"I don't know if I can do up your bandages…" Gloria said, her voice suddenly flat. "Maybe see another nurse."

"Are you sure you can trust them to do their job correctly?" Clement asked defiantly, which made her fume. As if she'd adopt him! Clement was sure that she'd rather adopt an courgette as her child because at least it knew its place.

He didn't like her tone. From her tone, it sounded like she didn't want to touch him unless _she_ turned crazy too!

Clement nodded his head. His flat facial expression probably made her think that he was a masochist that was about to kill himself by drinking bleach from the cupboards, which yes, he had intermittent urges of doing. Not in the name of death, but in the name of having making sure that his oesophagus was as clean as a surgeon's scalpel. He felt ill, seeing this woman look at him like _that_. He felt like he'd been asking Audrey because he knew that most people looked at him as mental. Who would want to adopt a bloke that was _mental?_ The look on Gloria's face was enough for him to know that she wasn't the least bit interested in bringing him back home, doing his Maths homework for him and feed him a pasta bake that wouldn't give him awful cramps because the chicken looked more like a child's modelling compound.

Nobody looked at him and thought: _Just what I wanted! Someone that was dangerously unhinged with a traumatic head injury!_

Gloria said nothing. Instead, she went and called another one of his nurses, leaving him and Stephen just standing there.

"She doesn't have to look at me like that," Clement said to nobody in particular, looking away from Stephen's stern and emotionless face. He didn't feel comfortable with them. "I have _feelings_ … too many of them, as it seems."

Stephen looked surprised almost. What? That _it_ could wallow in self-pity? Clement thought bitterly.

"Listen," Stephen's voice was indifferent. "I'll talk to my wife, but I can't make any promises." It sounded like a business transaction, but Clement was more surprised that Stephen didn't seem to want to bolt out of the room. "Alright?"

Clement stared at this bloke. Was he _really_ consider adopting him when his wife was so disgusted by him?

"I'm sorry if she's come on a little strong," Stephen said. "She's like this with everyone. You should see what she was doing with my son this Christmas… well, my son from another marriage. Absolutely terrible. She went ballistic when she realised that he had decided to get into dermatology instead of becoming a highly successful trauma surgeon."

He slowly nodded his head, feeling sad and distressed. "Alright," he said in a whisper. "I'm sorry if I upset her."

"Well… um…" Stephen smiled. It was as fake as the Splenda that the nurses put in his tea sometimes. "Get well soon."

 _Yes, because THAT'S under my power!_ Clement thought but said nothing. He smiled back. His was even faker. "Thank you."

Just as he left, Audrey walked into the room. Clement didn't know how long she was standing there, but she had a look of disgust on her face that told him that at least she'd heard some of the conversation. She had earrings on today, and they were glittering in the blinding light of the ruddy hospital room. Warm, chocolate button eyes replaced her usual black stones of contempt and irritation. Audrey cleared her throat, books in her arms. Judy was beside her. He hadn't noticed that she was a few inches taller than Audrey and had knocked knees. She was so social that even her knees said _hello_.

"Are those the people that the social worker sent?" Audrey asked. "Appalling! That's… um—… _unfortunate!"_

She then flushed, and Clement laughed when she said that. _Yes, unfortunate situations were… um… unfortunate._

"Is self-mutilation a crime? It sounds like it should be," Judy asked. The fact that she barely reacted to his flesh wounds told him that Audrey had showed her the pictures of him bleeding on the ground at the very least. "No offence."

"None taken," Clement replied, his voice soft. He wondered if Audrey was his friend. Or if Judy was his friend.

"It looks worse in real life than it does in the photos Audrey's showed me," Judy said. Clement was starting to wonder if Audrey liked talking about it a lot, or if people _asked_ Audrey about it a lot. Those were vastly different things. "They were amazing by the way. I didn't even know someone could lose so much blood and live! You're an absolute _LEGEND!"_

Clement was a legend for opening up his stitches on his first day of school? "Um…" he felt awkward now.

"When you come back to school," Judy said, "You should sit with me, Audrey, and the rest of the cool kids. We sit in the middle of the room.. I know you're like… brain dead, but this is a privilege, by the way."

"I think a bigger one is finding a home…? Before I get evicted from the hospital?" Clement replied humourlessly.

Judy laughed like he was the funniest 'brain dead' person that she met. "They can't evict you, silly!"

He didn't know that running a magazine was so _cool_. Clement wondered how much of it was just gossip! But Clement was amused seeing how Audrey twitched when Judy said that Clement was brain dead and felt like laughing. Like they were sharing a secret about how dumb that actually sounded. He had a _brain injury_. He was absolutely not _brain dead_.

As he stared at Audrey, she flushed and then looked at her arm. She looked… so pretty today.

There was a lapse of silence as Audrey watched the nurse come into the room. She got used to watching her change his bandages. Judy reached out to hold his hand, and Clement seemed surprised. He tried to appreciate the gesture, but he knew he would have to practically sterilise his hands afterwards. It was still nice, to have his hands held by a woman. Audrey was very awkward, standing there with nothing to hold by his IV pole to make herself look important.

Clement was sure that Audrey wanted to be nice to him because she felt awful about what happened between them. But it had been two and a half weeks since she'd said that. Were they friends now, or was she still visiting him out of pity?

After the nurse was done bandaging him up, Judy moved her hand away and flushed? What was that for?

"I tried to ask the nurse if you could leave the hospital for a few hours," Audrey admitted. "I thought it'll be nice for you to be out. Judy and I wanted to go to the cinema and watch a film this weekend. _The Usual Suspects_ is playing."

"They said no," Judy rolled her eyes. "But we just wanted to let you know that we asked." Did they speak _for each other?_

"And my mum made chocolate-chip bread," Audrey said, pulling out a box of something that he would later know as Tupperware. She gave it to him, and he accepted it graciously. He and Audrey had graduated to the level where she was bringing him food. Did she do this because Judy bought flowers last time? Was she _jealous_ of Judy? Clement wondered. "Well—she didn't make it for _you_ per say. But I thought that it'll be nice to have something that isn't stodgy hospital food."

He nodded his head and accepted her three stones' worth of chocolate chip bread. "Thank you," he said softly.

He wondered why Audrey was friends with Judy if Judy didn't seem to mind telling someone she barely knew about how Audrey's shorts fell during gym class. Especially when she proceeded to make fun of her knickers. He didn't know if he was friends with Audrey and Judy. Judy did invite him to sit with them at the 'cool' table in school when he left the hospital. They wanted to take him to the cinema to walk a film. That meant they were friends, right? He wasn't exactly the best judge of character. He once believed the people that kidnapped him were _his friends!_

If Audrey and Judy were his friends, did he have to tie his poufy hair into a bun too? Because he'd rather not.

"Mum did say that she might want to meet you," Audrey said in a way that made Clement think that he was probably never going to see her mum, but she felt inclined to break the three-second silence. "Um… yeah."

"That's nice," he said softly, clearing his throat. Clement couldn't get Gloria's expression out of his face.

"Well, she's a really nice lady," Audrey said. "My mum that is… maybe… um… you can—um… _well!"_

"Do you like women or men?" Judy decided to ask. "Because there are both in our group. You know when you come back. There's like five people that are single, and two of them are guys if you're interested. They're not smart though. Do you mind someone that's not that bright when it comes to Mathematics, unlike Shoddy Audie with the Custard Body?"

"I beg your pardon?" Clement flushed deeply. Custard. Wobbly, wobbly custard? " _I_ don't feel comfortable trying to apply the characteristics of an awful jumper and my pudding to a _human being_ thank you very much."

To Judy's brain, this computed as, "Oh my God, _you_ like Audrey!" She gasped theatrically. "I bet Audrey likes you."

 _"I DO NOT!"_ Audrey shrieked. Her glasses looked bigger than usual today. He didn't even feel insulted.

"That's so sad," Judy cocked her head to one side. "But we have five other people in the group for you! Don't feel so bad about Audrey not liking you. She thinks that this guy that has three teeth and uneven legs because he had polio or meningitis or something when he was a baby is _cute_. He's so gross. He eats cold cuts of meat _without_ bread!"

Clement just stared at Judy vacantly. His freckles made him look like a dying smallpox victim. What was her point?

To get Judy off the topic of any potential love interests Clement might want to invest his energy in, he told her about his life on a farm (Audrey already told her), her mum dying of breast cancer (Audrey already told her that too) and her mental breakdown in the bathroom in more details (everyone already knew that). Apparently, Audrey had decided that it was too mean to write about what happened to him in _Foxy Palms_. But _telling_ everyone about it was absolutely fine! Clement rolled his eyes. Even the bloody receptionist knew what happened to him… Judy even admitted that Audrey's mum thought it was ridiculous that she thought that his head injury had something to do with the London alleyway fire six weeks ago.

"If you want," Judy finally said. "I can ask my older sisters if it's okay with her if you live with us. We recently, um, well, one of my brothers was kicked out of the house for… like stealing my sister's money to buy cocaine. So, we have the extra room. And we're a big family, so I'm sure that having one more person doesn't really make a difference?"

Clement was taken back. "That… that would be excellent." He decided then that he liked Judy Dencen.

"We live in a house. It's super close to the Academy," Judy said. "I never liked the whole boarding school rooms, so I come home sometimes—when you know, it's a light day and I don't have to go to cheerleading practice afterwards."

Clement nodded his head. "Did you say you were asking permission from your older sister?" what about her parents?

"Yeah, my parents died in a car crash when I was eight. My oldest sisters are like twenty-seven, and they've been taking care of us since she was eighteen," Judy explained. By the way, apparently, she always sounded happy. Even when she was recounting the tragedies of her life, so she sounded borderline psychotic at this point. "They said they were _SO_ lucky they were twins, because like… when one of them was at work, the other one would make sure—you know, that we didn't die because we're stupid. _I've_ been working in retail since I was sixteen as part-time to help out! I think I can score you a job too. Because like…do you think my sisters can spare money for _these shoes?_ I had to buy them myself!"

He hadn't even noticed her shoes were so shiny. He was overwhelmed because he knew more about Judy than he did about Audrey. Clement thought he was Audrey's friend. Thus far, he knew her mother baked chocolate-chip bread?

When Judy went down to get them coffees, Audrey and Clement were left in the room all by themselves.

Audrey looked annoyed at Judy, but then she sighed deeply. "You must think I'm an arsehole. Because Judy would let you stay with her when they literally barely have any space, and I won't even talk to my mom about it?"

He shook his head. The only thing that Clement thought about was how Judy's enthusiasm gave him a headache.

"You know you've had three personalities in the span of two weeks," Clement said say. "Now, who is Audrey Brown?"

Audrey's arms dropped to her side. "Are you still on about the fact that I'm _'copying'_ Judy?"

Clement decided that Audrey wasn't copying Judy as much as he thought she was before. But she was still being very fake.

"It's not… I just…" Audrey was sounding so unsure of herself. "I didn't like it when you said that I was copying Judy. I don't know if you've noticed, but _I've_ never showed off my shoes and told you that I've worked hard to get them!"

"Why did you wait until Judy left to have a conversation with me about this?" he wondered.

She didn't answer him, which was her favourite way of dealing with questions that made her uncomfortable!

"I don't think you're copying Judy anymore _BUT_ you're actively trying to be something you're not," Clement's tone was firm. "I thought _I_ have a major identity crisis, but at least _I'm_ willing to admit that I'm having one."

"That's… that's fair," Audrey decided to say, smiling weakly at him. "I just didn't realise what kind of person that I'd become since I've started befriending Judy and the popular table… well, not until you started questioning everything during our unsuccessful interview! When you told me that about what happened to you, I felt the lowest of the low. I felt like I could barely recognise myself in my own quest for self-fulfillment! You and Judy don't have any parents and my biggest problem is trying to look good in shorts! I-I… I couldn't even believe that someone else in the world could have such vastly different experiences than me. Because the planet doesn't have _billions_ of people in it... not to mention that I felt self-righteous and entitled to know about what you went through just because I sat down with you for a few hours!"

Audrey shook her head. "I didn't even offer you a cup of coffee!"

Clement went red. "I'm sure _that's_ the real crime, Miss Brown," he said softly. He didn't blame her. He wasn't pleasant to be around, and she made up for it ten times over. She came to see him at least _five times a week_.

With a few seconds passing, Clement swallowed the lump in his throat. He wondered how the non-Judy-fied version of Audrey was like. He wondered how _that_ Audrey would've started talking to him.

"You can write about me in your magazine," Clement thought about it, and no matter what Audrey wrote, people weren't going to think that he was less mental than he was. They were probably about to put him in a class with the rest of the intellectually disabled children. He had been trying to delay an IQ test since he'd gotten here. Dr Michaels seemed to care more about convincing him to do the skin graft. "Considering you've already told everyone about it anyway."

"Oh…um…thank you," Audrey didn't sound excited. "You're… _different_ , Charlie. In a good way."

Clement didn't know how to feel about her words. He didn't really feel anything about them.

"You're right about me," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "About me… not knowing my own identity. I've joined twenty-seven clubs in the past five years and I _still_ don't know where I belong."

Clement was confused. "I didn't even know that London Fox-Palmer Academy had twenty-seven clubs." Blimey!

He just wanted to be out of the hospital soon. He wanted to go to school and have a family to go to, even if it was _Glory and Stevie_. Even if Gloria was giving him that look every time he walked into the house, that _how could you be so mental?_ look. Clement just wanted some form of stability in his life. He wanted to go to school and learn. He wanted to have friends, even if it meant that he'd have to sit down with Judy and her army of brain-washed Inferi (was that the correct word?). He wanted to remember who he was and feel a sense of tranquillity instead of this tight feeling in his chest that made him feel like something was horribly wrong. That he was running away. He had to be running away from something, hadn't he? Nobody did what he'd done to himself for no reason. Nobody became mental out of _NOTHING_.

There was a sensation of uneasiness in his chest all night that he tried to ignore.

When he went to sleep that night, he slept through the first half. Then he woke up at around three in the morning, feeling his chest tighten and tighten to the point where he could barely breathe. His mind was washed with vivid images of pools of blood and the sound of bones cracking. _Snip. Snap. Crack_ when enough tension was applied. He could smell something hot and rubbery. Suddenly, the feeling of being filthy and disgusting made him want to vomit. He could barely remember anything, but now, he remembered something that was so _horrible_ he half-wished he could barely remember at all.

The memory felt like a fresh, hot rod seared to his brain. He looked around, feeling very unsafe.

Clement turned to the side. He didn't remember names or faces, or who he had been before he lost his memory but he could remember _what_ had happened. He didn't remember what colours he liked, or how he'd spent his summer days in a farm in Devon before. He didn't remember anything about the Order of the Phoenix, Death Eaters or any other theatrical sounding organisations. He couldn't remember how the house he grew up in looked like, the embarrassing and happy memories that came with a normal childhood or if he had any uncles or aunts. Clement couldn't even remember what he was doing in an alleyway in London…

 _But_ he could remember being in that red-carpeted room. He could remember the black shoes that he was wearing, and how rubbery his skin felt. He could remember the fear consolidated in his belly, making him feel like throwing up.

"Are you alright?" his heart rate monitor was going crazy, and Clement felt nauseated. "Charlie?"

"Maybe a nice walk will help him out," a sweet voice said. "Charlie, do you want to go out for a walk with us?"

"Is… is Audrey around?" Clement blurted out through periods of apnoea and hyperventilation.

"Darling, it's three in the morning," he felt a hand on his shoulder. "But I'm sure your friend will be here tomorrow. Do you want me to heat up some of that chocolate-chip loaf that she'd gotten you? Maybe that'll help you feel better."

One of the nurses reached out to hold his hand and cling onto it. Clement was panting, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, which was disgusting. Being dirty and sweaty made him feel even worse about himself, so he went into a cycle of hysteria that could only be calmed down by enough Valium to kill a horse.

"Alright," Clement didn't know why these nurses were so nice to him. "Thank you," he said softly.

When they left to go heat up the loaf, Clement felt tears run down his cheeks. He wished he could be home now.


	16. Cut It Out

_i just want to let you know that after a few chapters, i might skip to three years after (post DH, but without Fred's death. so yeah, i did change the summary to an AU-ish, mostly because i have too many loopholes in canon, so let's just say it's canon-based because for some reason, i'm even ditzier with this fanfiction than i am with most.)_

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Sixteen: Cut It Out

* * *

It was three in the morning and Percy had officially been twenty for the past three hours.

Two hours ago, the sound of his mother crying woke Bill up from his dreams of finding _Primpernelle's Next Top Model_.

Last night, Charlie found Bill in his room, trying to come up with a colourful excuse for why he hadn't been back to Egypt for a couple of months. Worrying about his missing brother was _not_ a good reason to be out of work for nearly two months—especially when there was nothing left to be done! What was he going to say? That he elected himself to conduct his own personal investigation, when his father's Auror friends were on the case? By the way, Bill managed to lose a six-foot-tall bloke with freckles and flaming red hair? He thought _he_ could do much better than Kingsley Shacklebolt, an Auror who managed to find a bloke that literally nobody even noticed was missing in the first place!

"Clearwater knows _something_ ," Charlie said with a tone so venomous that it could've made Severus Snape shudder.

Bill didn't even look up from his blank piece of parchment paper. It was as of if he looked at it hard enough, a good enough explanation would somehow materialise from his dead 12 O.W.L brain.

"She's a Ravenclaw," Bill answered in a bored tone. "I bet she knows a lot of things."

Charlie rolled his eyes and feigned a laugh. "Ha _HA_ , Bill the stand-up bloody comedian! Could upstage the twins whilst endorsing his new formula for ever-growing lustrous hair!" he hissed coldly, and then sat down at the edge of Bill's old bed. There were decades of dust accumulating there that left Bill somewhat nostalgic and somewhat glad that he didn't have to wonder about why his nose was runnier than the eggs he ate for breakfast. "You know what I mean, arsehole!"

"I mean she knows something about _Percy_ that we haven't figured it out," Charlie clarified. "Something important."

Important _how?_ She knew how he liked his coffee based on the times she'd having breakfast with him in the Great Hall?

"She's a kid, Charlie," Bill looked at Charlie with renewed interest. "What makes you think she knows anything?"

It wasn't that Percy would consider hiding in his ex-girlfriend's flat. Bill knew how Penelope's flat looked like now—it looked like a mountain troll threw up all over the place. There was bread there that was older than the textbooks that Professor Binns told them to use. There was more dust accumulating in her shelves and cupboards than there was in the _Get Bulging Bulgarian Biceps Now_ resistance training program Bill had bought in his fifth year! _NO WAY_ Percy lived anywhere within a ten-mile radius of that place just in case he contracted something from the contaminated air.

Just before Charlie launched into his ramble, Arthur just walked into the room looking like he hadn't slept in weeks. Which, by the way, he hadn't. Bill didn't even know how his dad managed to get to apparate to work every day without splinching himself.

"What are you two—" Arthur was cut off as Charlie launched into his spiel.

"Percy had a _KNIFE_ in his room," Charlie said, still stunned by the revelation. "You should've seen the way she acted! She acted like… like… we were _stupid_ for not knowing what the knife was for! Mum was gutted when she wouldn't tell us why. When Ron and Ginny came back home and heard about it, they thought that it was a big, fat joke! Normal people do not keep _contorted knives_ in the room because they just fancied having one around! Do you know what Penny said to us when we asked her to tell us? She said that she respected Percy's bloody _PRIVACY!_ Which you know, doesn't matter if Percy ends up coming home as a cadaver because she didn't want to _HURT HIS FEELINGS by sharing his SECRETS!_ "

Arthur winced, as if the words physically caused him pain. "It's not her fault," he said softly.

"Dad, it is _most definitely_ her fault," Charlie replied zealously. "I wish I can send her some of the colourful death threats we got to her. Because there's a chance Percy will get more than just _his feelings_ hurt if we don't hurry up and find him."

Arthur looked at Bill, noticing how his facial expression changed. "Bill?" his voice was soft. "Is there—?"

Bill started to feel lightheaded. " _A knife?"_ he reiterated, just to make sure his ears weren't plugged by doxy dung.

Arthur closed his eyes, shuddering. "Yes," he replied. "It was one of Molly's old ones. It went missing a few years back."

"Knife as in the kitchen appliance? The one that has a blade? That _knife?_ " Bill's hands were nervously twitching. "Typically used to chop carrots, slice potatoes and attempt to defeat mum's crazy dense treacle tart?"

He didn't think about _the knife_ or knew that Charlie or the rest of the family had heard about _the knife_.

"This is about a _knife?"_ Bill repeated. To which Charlie and Arthur nodded. "That's… that's it? A knife?"

Arthur paled dramatically. "Well, Bill, it—"

Charlie went red. "That's _IT?_ What do you _MEAN THAT'S IT?"_ he yelled out. " _YES_ , that's bloody it! One of my kid brothers, the one that likes to collect battered books and vanilla scented candles, is also hoarding his own collection of knives! Knives that look like they've lost all molecular shape and structure! Obviously because Percy has been sneaking in Hagrid's rock cakes in from school for his pudding because he didn't fancy our mum's three-layer trifle with homemade cream! He must've tried to cut a few open. Yes, _that's_ how he managed to contort them!"

Arthur went red as Charlie belted out, " _ONLY A BLOODY KNIFE!_ You're-you're…you're taking the piss, aren't you?"

"Um…" Bill's beat was racing faster than two Seekers that had spotted the snitch at the same time. Charlie thought that Penelope was withholding important information because she knew about that sodding knife that Bill also happened to know about. "Well… there just happens to be… an… um…"

Arthur looked concerned. "Bill, are you alright?" he asked softly. "You're acting rather strange."

Bill was acting rather strange because he knew exactly what knife Charlie and Arthur must by talking about. The knife that he'd specifically watched Percy put back into the drawers years ago. Merlin.

"You know," Charlie realised the second that he noticed Bill hyperventilating. "You _KNOW_ why."

Bill swallowed the lump in his throat. "He… he was in his fifth year! He said that it was only… _only once_."

" _WHAT_ was _ONLY ONCE_ that involved a bloody _KNIFE?"_ Charlie hissed. Arthur looked betrayed.

"Dad, don't give me that look. Come on… please," Bill begged. "Look… um… _I_ thought I was protecting him."

" _Protecting him?_ I doubt you were bloody protecting him!" Charlie's aneurysm looked like it might just burst any second, his hands were shaking like crazy. "Would you like to tell me _WHAT_ you were so lovingly protecting him from, William? Last I checked, you didn't exactly cure his obsessive-compulsive disorder… what a shame!"

Bill just got pissed. "I _never_ said that I cured him, okay?!" he yelled. "You don't know how it was _like_ … he was…"

"Percy literally _DISAPPEARED!"_ Charlie yelled. "You thought _now_ is the best time to be keeping secrets from us?"

Charlie just shook his head in disbelief and said, "I dare you to tell mum about how careful and loving you are for protecting him with his super special secrets. I dare you to explain to her how Percy managed to make a kitchen knife wonky but how you totally managed to protect him from the evils of the world. She'll absolutely _LOVE_ that!"

" _YOU_ don't even know what this is about!" Bill spat out, shaking a closed fist in the air.

"What don't you tell us?" Arthur said softly. Bill flinched. He sounded disappointed in him.

 _"Don't bring anyone else into this,"_ Bill said, as more of a threat than anything. "Don't you _DARE!"_

Memories flooded his mind almost immediately. "I just… he… um…" Bill stammered, remembering fifteen-year-old Percy with the expressionless face and a tightly bound, bloodied cloth pressed his thin, freckled arm. "He cut himself. On _purpose_ … a week after he stopped seeing his psychiatric healer in his fifth year. He came to me because he cut too deep and he needed someone to take him to St Mungo's because he couldn't apparate himself there."

A few moments of silence lapsed. Every word that left Bill's mouth felt worse than the next.

 _"What?"_ Charlie sounded disgusted. "And you kept it a _bloody secret?_ You can't just…blimey! Percy has a _MENTAL DISORDER_. You just find out that he _CUT HIMSELF_ and you don't even think to mention it to anyone else in this house? Just let him wallow around in his own thoughts, because that's been doing him a fat load of good the last few years?"

Arthur was shocked. "Can you fathom how deep he went for it to look like that?"

Bill's ears reddened. "It wasn't that bad when I…I—" he stuttered. "I think he'd have to have done it… _multiple_ times."

"I bet you're shocked," Charlie said, rolling his eyes. "Percy didn't keep his word? Seriously? Percy is _sick_ , Bill."

He tried to explain how bad it was. It was bad enough to bend the knife a little—a knife that he'd explicitly kept locked away after that happened. Take it to Percy to break the spells he'd used to lock that up. He should really consider becoming a Curse Breaker with that level of knowledge! At least Percy had an _interesting_ set of skills, didn't he? Bill remembered going to St Mungo's Accidents and Emergency with an apathetic fifteen-year-old Percy, looking like he had been there for hurting his hand when he tried to punch a Slytherin. Bill remembered how unnaturally pale Percy was.

When his younger brother finally let them tend to his cut, Bill felt dizzy with vertigo in A&E. Of course, he hadn't eaten much more than a few bites of toast and a couple of sips of orange juice. And no, it didn't have anything to do with the fact that Percy sliced so deeply into his skin that he'd managed to cut into his connective tissue to the point where you could see his bony prominences exposed underneath all the stringy stuff. The smell was _damning_.

It shocked him that Percy did that in their house without anyone even noticing. It shocked him that Percy did _that_.

And the bastard was just sat there like he was waiting for his mum to bring out the gammon for their Sunday roast! It shocked him to know that the same Percy that felt disgusted at becoming wet managed to cut himself that deeply. Wasn't that just an invitation for infection? Yet this was the same Percy that wouldn't eat mushy peas because they looked _wrong_.

"Great," Charlie broke the silence, looking disappointed in Bill… and himself. _"Just bloody fantastic!"_

Arthur looked horrified at Bill's retelling. He wished that he could try to find the words to emphasise how bad that wound actually was but at the same time, he was glad that he was the only one saw how bad it was. "I thought…" Bill's voice was unsteady. "He told me he wasn't going to do it again. I…it's _PERCY_. I don't remember the last time he _lied_ to me!"

What? He believed a fifteen-year-old bloke that was trying to _dissect his arm?_

"Oh!" Charlie looked irritated. "And I suppose you asked him _WHY_ he tried to cut himself in the first place? What did he say? _I don't wanna talk about it, Bill? Leave me alone? Because cutting myself is a perfectly normal response to feeling sad!"_

"Did he… did he try to…?" Arthur looked ghostly pale. "If he tried to…do more than just… _harm himself?"_

Bill felt himself reddening even more because he didn't even think of the fact that Percy might've just failed or aborted an attempt at killing himself. He didn't think so, because he wouldn't have tried it so much that the knife got bent, right…?

"Bill thinks he did it again, Dad," Charlie said to Arthur with a soft voice. "If he really has been trying to kill himself under our roof a couple of times, I don't think I can look at myself in the mirror ever again."

Bill didn't think he could look at himself _now_. "Yeah…" he couldn't even contemplate sending an owl to his work tonight.

Charlie's tone changed dramatically. "Look, Bill, maybe I'm just… angry that he never told anyone else," he had managed to calm himself down. "Okay? You're not the reason that he did all this stuff in the first place. Although you're a moron, you were just trying to help him…truth is I don't know what _I_ would've done if Percy came up to me instead."

Bill didn't feel much better. But yeah, thanks. "I guess," he said. "I just wish I would've taken him back to his healer."

When he went to bed that night, he was plagued by memories of what happened that summer in Percy's fifth year when he'd decided that the only psychiatric help he needed was a Puffskein to abuse when he was studying for his O.W.L's. His short-lived investigation at Amanuensis Quills was as useless as trying to cardiopulmonary rescuitate Peeves back to life.

 _I might've… well, it is not really a problem as such but… I might've lost too much blood_ , Percy's cheeks flushed when he was talking to him. As he bled through his cloth, he tried to explain what he did. Imagine having your brother tell you he slipped his knife in too deep when he was purposefully cut himself. _YOU DID WHAT? YOU'RE JOKING!_ Bill replied before he hurriedly apparated them to St Mungo's. Bill remembered sitting on a chair at A&E, as Percy continued applying pressure to his wound. Percy tried to make himself look smaller, as if his presence there was a nuisance to the staff.

They were waiting too long. Bill was about to approach someone about it, but Percy shook his head.

" _I_ can wait for someone to come over to assess me," Percy replied quietly. "Well… I'm not exactly about to die from a heart attack," he nodded over to a bloke that was probably dying from a heart attack, clutching onto his chest and sweating.

"So… um…" Bill was so focused on getting Percy to St Mungo's he hadn't had time to process what he actually did.

Percy looked at him with a weak smile. "I understand this isn't ideal," he refused to maintain eye contact with him.

"You mean you knifing yourself…? No, it really isn't," Bill's voice a little higher than he wanted it to be. He was worried about him. "What were you thinking, Percy? How _crazy_ do you have to be to think that this is a good idea? What in Godric's name did that psychiatric healer that said to you that has you flying straight to mum's _kitchen_ _knife?"_

"I'd appreciate it if you stop trying to gauge my mental status," Percy replied. "I am fine. This was just… a minor— _um_ —"

He was going red. Because Bill knew that it wasn't minor. Minor was Charlie hurling one of Ginny's old, battered teddy bears to the wall when he was angry. Minor was _not_ mutilating yourself to the point where you need to visit A&E.

"Just stop talking, Percy," Bill couldn't hide the disappointment from his voice. "Well? Are you going to _show me?"_

"Not with that attitude, William," Percy mumbled under his breath. "You can go suck on a lemon drop."

"Fine," Bill replied, and then cleared his throat. "Have it your way."

They stayed quiet until one of the nurses came around to assess the extent of the bleeding.

Bill didn't see how bad the wound was until one of the nurses came around. When she pulled the cloth away to have a look, Bill actually started to feel like he'd just been clocked in the face. Percy almost butchered himself. Bill had never seen that much raw blood and bone since he'd watched his mother dismantle the chicken she used for their Sunday roast. He looked at Percy's face, and was shocked to see how _embarrassed_ he looked like. He looked like his parents just caught him making out with his girlfriend, or a little kid that just got caught sneaking downstairs for biscuits at three in the morning!

What was embarrassing about _THAT?_ For Godric's sake, he felt like Percy really was checked out…

Bill was lost in his thoughts. He barely heard Percy try to explain to the nurses that he did it to himself with a knife. He avoided the questions such as _what were you thinking about when you did this?_ and anything that involved Percy acknowledging that he had _feelings_. After one of the healers took a look at it, they had the nurses stitch Percy's arm together. They used special stitches that was supposed to fuse his wound together.

The A&E wrote him a referral for a psychiatric healer, which Percy tossed into the bin the second he could.

"Hey," Bill said when after the healers left. Percy looked almost green from how nauseous that he was. It didn't look great with clashing red hair and freckles. He looked like he had a case of necrotising dragon pox. "Are you…?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Percy said, rubbing his neck. "I just… am slightly worried what you must think of me."

Bill didn't even know that. Not really. What was he supposed to think? He felt sick, and he needed a drink just to think about it. "For Merlin's sake, Percy, what in Godric's name were you thinking? Nobody sane does this… _nobody_."

He cleared his throat. "Are you going to do it again?" Bill asked. He didn't like that he was asking this, you know?

"No," Percy replied. It sounded honest enough. Bill believed him. "I'm not going to do it again."

He went so red, and he looked so embarrassed. Bill felt shocked seeing tears starting to form from the end of Percy's eyes. He hadn't seen Percy cry since he was a little kid. Bill didn't say anything. "Perce, you don't understand—"

"No, no," Percy's voice was starting to get teary. " _You_ don't understand, Bill. I… I don't know if I can…"

"Perce," Bill's voice was soft. "What the hell is going on with you? Because you…"

"I don't want anyone else to know," Percy begged, his hands slightly shaking. "I just had a bad week… if you'd just…." A bad week! And he believed him too, because when Bill had a bad week too, he knifed himself in frustration and distress!

Percy shook his head. "I won't do it again. I promise," he said shakily. "I haven't given you a reason not to trust me."

"Sure," Bill gave in, seeing Percy let out a sigh of relief. "Sure, Perce… I won't tell anyone. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I don't," Percy replied, and then they stayed silent until he got discharged a few hours later.

Remembering all these things didn't make Bill feel any better. He felt worse… how surprising!

The calendar was mocking him. August twenty-bloody-second his arse. Twenty-year-old Percy. Disappeared. The whole family was probably depressed. Even Ron didn't want to talk about the clock, the letters or how bad it was _not knowing_.

Every hour that passed with Percy still somewhere else was disappointing. Time simultaneously felt like it had frozen and was going too fast. Had it really been _two months_ since Percy was gone? At the same time, it only felt yesterday since the last time he'd seen Percy sitting in his room. Meanwhile, Ron and Ginny were supposed to go back to school soon…

Bill turned to his side, trying to pretend that the acid reflux that he had was solely down to the two pints of firewhiskey he'd sloshed down combined with the worst chicken curry that he'd ever eaten. He felt like he might choke in his sleep! His freckled face was tear-stained. He was crying like it had just been told that Percy _died_. He wished he could've talked to Percy. He almost wished he had punched the information out of him! Everyone knew that the longer that he was gone, the more the likelihood of him being dead. Percy could be choking on his own blood right now for all they knew!

After he spent an hour wailing like a banshee being fingered, Bill tried to stop sobbing pathetically all over his bed.

"Hey," Charlie was standing by the doorway. He was wearing grey sweets, and still looked like he just came to life from a woman's fantasy. He looked like he was about to run out of a Witch Weekly catalogue for _Looking Charmingly Comfy_. At three in the morning. What a bastard. "Can you stop doing that? You'd probably scare mom if… _when_ she wakes up."

Bill sat up and was hugging his pillow. Level of pathetic had reached maximum capacity. Thank you.

Charlie sat down at the edge of the bed and gave him a weak smile. "I'm sorry about earlier."

Bill nodded his head. "Thanks," he did feel a little better, because Charlie had every right to be pissed at him right now.

Charlie reached over and placed a hand on Bill's arm. "It's going to be okay, you know," he said, and he sounded optimistic enough to maybe fill Bill with some feeling of hope. It felt good. Bill sometimes got this sudden burst of excitement, like he just felt like any moment Percy was going to burst through the door. Arthur and him would make up and they could get on with their lives. When it didn't happen, it felt like they were losing him all over again.

Bill nodded his head again, because he didn't want to say that he was terrified that Percy was _already gone_.

"Do you remember when we were supposed to spend a week in Aunt Muriel's house? Percy kept on talking about how we should appreciate this opportunity and _blah blah blah_ ," Charlie just rolled his eyes. Bill remembered how he used to shriek when Fred and George tried to see what Muriel kept in her extremely large closet. Unfortunately, all they discovered were undergarments that Percy had mistaken for pink parachutes. "We missed the Burrow so much. We barely lasted the bloody weekend because of the old hag on our arses all day long. We had to play Quidditch with supervision in case we were doing something other than playing Quidditch—apparently, like somehow managing to apparate to the only pub in town that wouldn't serve you unless you're visibly over thirty. Merlin, what a _nightmare_."

Bill smiled a little bit. He liked those days plenty. He remembered last time they had an extended family gathering. Fred and George threw fake spiders at Ron every time their mum told them to be quiet because their Aunt Edna was asleep. The shrieks were enough to turn a corpse into an Inferi—which, coincidentally, what Aunt Edna was.

"When we came back home after that week, it was one of the most well-behaved twenty-four hours ever," Charlie reminisced fondly. "Ron helped mum clean the house until it was spotless. Ginny and Percy set up the table without breaking anything. We cooked dinner for mum and dad because we missed them so much. And then…"

Bill suppressed a laugh, because he didn't want to laugh after he'd been crying. Cry-laughs made you sound mad. "Percy managed to knock down a whole dinner table with him when he tripped on his robes. He blamed Fred and George, who were in another room. We bloody _brutalised_ him." They had fish and chips from a local shop that night. It was amazing.


	17. I Do Not Understand Social Cues

_this fanfiction is so hard to write it's almost baffling. i think it's because i have about 27 different ideas and it's hard to pick on where to go with it. none of what i've written is what i've planned. it feels like this fanfiction has its own plotline and its own direction. it's so strange._

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Seventeen: I Do Not Understand Social Cues

* * *

In an unexpected twist of fate, Stephen and Gloria Shepherd adopted chocolate-chip-loaf-annihilator Clement Charlie Jones on the twenty-second of August. He was so ecstatic about it _that he felt like it was his birthday!_

On the same day, they'd also managed to discharge him from the hospital after chatting with Dr Michaels. Stephen didn't want Clement to have a host of multiple skin graft operations. If he did, he'd send his last year of high school drugged out on narcotics just to be able to cope with the sewed-up pieces of flesh surgically implanted into his deep wounds. Gloria also mentioned that she was an intensive care nurse that took care of people that were on their death bed. Surely, she could change a seventeen-year-old's _owies_ and make sure that he didn't give his controlled drug prescriptions to his friends!

When Judy and Audrey visited for the last time, they bought this huge oaf with them that smelled like of testosterone, easy-make macaroni and cheese pots and poor choices. His name was _Steel_ , which surprised Clement. Not many parents looked at their baby and believed that the perfect thing to name him after would be after an alloy of iron and oxygen.

"This Charlie guy is a loser," was the first thing Steel said when Clement was done talking. "What is _this?_ Charity work?"

Audrey crossed her arms over her chest. "If I wanted to do charity work, I'd consider tutoring _you_ after school."

"You _sure_ you don't like him?" Steel asked. "Calm down, Audie. I was like… kidding, you know what that is? Jesus."

Steel sat down on the edge of Clement's bed. Amazingly, it didn't snap in two halves.

"He's not a loser though," Judy said. "Like… I don't get why they want you to have operations if you're going to scar anyway, but like…I guess the scarring might be less obvious than if your skin tries to knit itself together? Which is probably the grossest thing I've ever heard since I heard that my favourite chocolate bar is _twenty-percent saturated fat!"_

"Can I see the cuts?" Steel perked up dramatically when Judy mentioned it. "I don't know how you did that, man. It must've been brutal. I don't know why you would do it though. Those pics almost scared _me_."

Was Clement supposed to be _proud?_ He felt weirded out. Maybe this was normal to applaud someone's _self-harm?_

He left on Tuesday night. He was perfectly content with the woolly reindeer jumpers and baggy trousers that he got from the nurses. He wore grey trousers and a red jumper outside, and Judy looked like she was about to faint… or convulse. In fact, she had a more adverse reaction to his clothing choices than she did the fact that he had large, gaping wounds.

Stephen and Gloria's car sort of induced this permanent state of nausea. He was also nauseated from the pain medications that he took.

"Thanks," Clement broke the silence, since they didn't even bother asking him how he was. They took his stuff though.

Gloria scrunched up her face, like she was disgusted that he bothered to thank her. "You're welcome," she said.

Their house was far away from the hospital. Clement appreciated the fact that they took such a journey down to take him, especially when he knew they'd probably have a hard time driving him to school tomorrow morning.

They stopped by a station to fill their car up with petrol, and Gloria walked out of the car for water.

"I've managed to talk her into it," Stephen said once they were alone. Clement thought _that_ was a given!

"Thank you," Clement said. This one was a more appreciative _thank you_. Gloria bought him a bottle of 2% milk because he was much too scrawny for it to be normal. Obviously, he needed fattening up if he was ever to survive evolution.

He couldn't see how Stephen managed to convince her. Gloria didn't even want to look at his face too long just in case he had a relapse of his undiagnosed schizophrenia. She was about as ecstatic as Barry the owl was about the letter he'd been trying to _jam_ into his face. Get it? _Jam?_ Because Barry was a sugar-free jam-eating owl that apparently _stole_ letters.

Stephen decided to break the silence. "Do you need any clothes? School supplies? Books?" he asked as they drove.

Clement wanted those things but he stayed silent. He was afraid that _needing a pencil case_ might be the last straw for Gloria.

Much to his lack of surprise, the Shepherds had one of _those_ houses. The houses that reminded you of your visiting your aunt. It was one that didn't look _homey_. It was stiff, with carpets and walls the colour of dry oatmeal. The wallpapers looked like they hadn't been changed since 1920's. The house smelled _old_ , like it had been so long since the decorations have been changed that it had a weird smell to it. The counters were as white as anything. To make matters worse, Clement noticed that the muffins on the table was studded with raisins. Who baked _raisins_ into their muffins?

He could practically imagine the sugar-free orange juice in the fridge. He could imagine they woke up every morning at an unfathomable hour, so they could drink black coffee and read the paper before going to work.

Stephen led him to his bedroom. Clement had already disappointed his new family just by existing. How wonderful.

Clement's new room was a nice, colourful grey. His bed smelled like a small, furry animal had died in it. He had a bathroom in his own room, a mini fridge that was stocked with a prescription of Fortisip and geriatric multivitamins. The shelves were practically empty, and Clement had just stacked his school books there. There was a photo of what he assumed was Gloria as a child. She did not smile then either, for fear that people might misinterpret it as her liking them! The room was so bare that Clement felt like it mirrored the vacant hole inside of him. On the positive side, he could still smell the detergent wafting from the bathroom, and the room didn't smell stale. If it did, he might have to kill himself.

It was eleven at night, which was apparently an hour past Clement's curfew. Fortunately, because this was his first time, Stephen let him off with a mild warning. Gloria bought him big school clothes because she wanted him to have room for all the bandages. Unfortunately, Clement was not exactly Steel on steroids (yes, on steroids. It was _that_ big).

Gloria had him wear it, and then made her adjustments with clips. Clement was high alert, because he was sure she might stick a needle into him on purpose. "These will be at your door by the time you wake up at five in the morning."

 _Five in the morning?_ Even Barry didn't nudge him awake at five in the bloody morning.

"Thank you," Clement repeated for the third time that night. It was all that he'd been saying that night.

"Thank you, _ma'am_ ," Gloria corrected him, to which he reiterated. He felt a lump in his throat. "I would like to see your homework now, because I want to make sure that it has all reached a satisfactory level before you go to bed."

Needless to say, Clement's homework did not reach a satisfactory level. In fact, when Gloria read his work on his Maths problems, she looked like she was actually considering having him tested for learning disabilities. She sighed and told him to pick up a chair. Then despite the fact that she had to get up for work at the crack of dawn, Gloria sat down and helped him with his homework. She read pages of his textbook and then re-explained things to him very calmly.

Clement would like to be smart. He was sure that he used to be smart before his brain injury, so he liked the fact that he was being taught. He listened as intently as he could. Trying to repeat concepts in his mind that seemed foreign to him. Honestly, sometimes Clement genuinely believed that he'd come in from another planet! Or race!

Fortunately for him, Gloria didn't call him stupid or get frustrated with him when he didn't understand. She didn't hate him for being so juvenile. It almost made him feel bad that this woman didn't have the pleasure of having a child. Because she obviously really wanted one if she was willing to put up with his sorry arse at one in the morning.

" _You're_ going to school tomorrow," Gloria said midway through her explaining algorithms. "Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," Clement nodded his head. He tried to write down notes as quickly as he could. This felt natural to him. Pooling over work at an ungodly hour. His hand was cramping when he had written down his second row of notes. He did feel like himself. But all the short-lived satisfaction from completing his work didn't fix this _hole_ inside of him.

Gloria cleared her throat. "Did… did Stephen say anything about me when you were in the car alone?"

"Pardon?" Clement was trying to draw a triangle that didn't look too wobbly.

Clement realised that she was terrified that her husband had been talking about her to the weird kid that they'd just adopted. Because she was currently clearing her throat, blushing and focusing on _Problem Number 23_ , which was vectors. He wondered if their marriage was suffering and they thought that adopting the mentally challenged bloke would help.

"No," Clement said, and then returned to his Maths problem, which was seeming less complicated than his life now.

At around two in the morning, she bought him a raisin muffin along with a cup of black coffee.

By the time that Clement went to bed, he was overwrought with emotion because he was under the impression that this woman didn't care for him at all. But she also literally just spent three hours trying to do his homework with him! When she'd asked him about what her husband had said to him during the car, she sounded sad. Clement bet that they'd had a wonderful relationship and they'd been drifting away. That was a shame. Did they want to have children to save their marriage, or was it just the traditional things to do? Because everything about this house screamed traditional.

Audrey would love all how conventional it was. They had alarm clocks set at five in the morning. Everyone showered, and the water was hot. All the towels were white, like he'd seen in the television shows he'd been watching in the hospital.

Despite the fact that that Gloria told him that she'd be waking him up, she didn't.

At around seven in the morning, she gently shook him awake. He opened up his eyes, was fed a few pain killers and drank a sip of water as she ran her hand through his hair. Clement felt exhausted. He was used to sleeping for ages at the hospital! Well, apart from the hours the nurse would get him to move so he didn't die of a lung clot.

Clement threw off his sheets and sat up. Before he could get out of bed, Gloria placed her hands firmly on his shoulder.

"You are not going to school looking like _this_ ," said Gloria. "Especially with unkempt school clothes. Go back to sleep."

Clement let himself smile a little, because he knew that this had nothing to do with unkempt school clothes.

"There's a box of sugar-free, whole-grain cereal downstairs that Stephen has bought for you that is adequate for the growth of a child such as yourself. Fat-free milk in the fridge," Gloria said, and Clement just slowly nodded his head. "If you would be so kind, I would like you to walk the dog as soon as you are awake. By two, Stephen will pick you up and he expects you to have gotten ready to go to the stores. You are expected to get you new clothes—sensible choices of course, Stephen will be there to supervise you—because the amount of clothing that you already have is extremely unsatisfactory."

The words _satisfactory_ and _unsatisfactory_ gave Clement vertigo. He had a feeling he'd be hearing it a lot.

Clement didn't actually go into school until the next day, where he had a tidy uniform and a black rucksack to carry around his ten thousand textbooks with him. He had eaten his seemingly standard breakfast of wholegrain cereal with fat-free milk and watched Gloria and Stephen drink coffee for one and a half boring, never-ending hours!

By six-thirty-five, Stephen instructed Clement to follow him to his car, a stuffy contraception. Wonderful.

The car ride was full of unadulterated suspense! Clement was forced to listen to an endless stream of never-ending jazz music, which came from the stone age area that Stephen must've grown up in. He was forced to wait for Stephen to pull out a _map_ at _every stop light_ and reiterate when they'd reach their destination based on the velocity of his car. Velocity, by the way, implied that the car was _MOVING_. For every minute of excruciating silence, Clement resisted the urge to bang his head against the window. Did you know that there were out of shape people that were able to _run past_ his vehicle?

He hadn't noticed yesterday since he'd been doped on so many narcotics. The hospital and school were not that far away from the house. Stephen just drove like a turtle that just suffered through a leg amputation.

When they reached school, Clement couldn't fumble with the car door fast enough. He had to get out _NOW_.

"Gloria spoke to your school about-about… your necessities," Stephen said as Clement tried to deal with the sticky door handle. Which was sticky because Clement used so much hand sanitizer that he ended up with a sticky handle. But internally, he was screaming because his condition had no rhyme or reason? Yes, that sounded right. "She will pick you up at the end of the school day. I explain that you would be ready for pick-up at this exact location at six."

 _Six?_ Clement felt woozy. "Mr Shepherd—um… sir," he said tentatively. "I'm aware that school finishes at _three?"_

Stephen sighed like it was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. Clement found that hilarious. The stupidest thing he'd ever heard was a bloke that was trying to pull out a map to _drive a car…_ and Clement thought _his_ geography was bad!

"You will preoccupy yourself until then," Stephen sternly replied. "Because she will not leave in the middle of her job just to pick you up. Fortunately, three hours is plenty of time for you to do your homework and engage in a daily, fulfilling extracurricular activity. Well, I doubt you'd have to an extracurricular activity to engage today, but I'd like it to go on the record that Gloria promised that she will have a list of appropriate activities ready for you by tomorrow. I'm sure they will be suitable for your… um… your _ailment_ I'd like to add." _AILMENT!_ As if he hadn't done it to himself!

Clement felt even woozier. What kind of extracurricular activity could he do when he was drowsy twenty-four-seven?

"Um… there's no need—Mr Stephen… Shepherd…sir!" Clement's voice raised an octave every ten seconds. He started sounding like a child that inhaled helium from a balloon. "I have a few friends that are able to drive me back to my house. As—as… I-I don't want to take any of Mrs Shepherd's time by going out of her way to pick me up!"

Stephen looked offended. "You want to show _other people_ where we _LIVE?"_

Clement shrunk into his seat. "No! I… well, I could have them drop me off just in the neighbour. I'll walk the rest of the way! In fact, I can walk back home by myself. I… _I could borrow a map from the geography room!"_

He was sure that he may have struck a nerve in Stephen, because his face contorted in an almost unreadable expression. He looked like he wanted to do something horrible… like thwart Clement with a very heavy bag of potatoes. Or worse, dump an ice-cold bucket of water on him. But at least he'd be clean if Stephen did that, right?

Stephen's face twisted into disgust. " _YOU_ should be lucky that we've even taken you in! Ungrateful sodding…"

"I'm sorry Mr Shepherd! _SIR!"_ Clement nervously yelled. "Thank you for… um… I will see Mrs Shepherd at six!"

Clement had whizzed out of the car and practically sprinted up the stairs. Which was not wise considering how out of shape and unfit he was from spending sixteen hours a day lounging around in his bed.

When he got into his class, Clement felt increasingly uncomfortable. The people in his class were so— _SO_ … nice. The teacher didn't ask where he'd been for the last few weeks. According to Judy, his energy filled the room with calmness and serenity. Judy also saved a seat from him near the window. Clement loved staring outside the window. It was his favourite activity in the hospital next to having _two_ chocolate bars fall down the vending machine instead of one.

Clement watched Audrey at the back of the class in her uniform. She looked very nice with a skirt on. She was toying with a contraption in her hands, a game-like contraption that he'd seen the thirteen-year-old prick in the ward play with.

Steel was taking notes, which was what Clement was supposed to do be doing instead of zoning out.

He was embarrassed when he was called on in class and he didn't know the answer. Clement didn't even know how to begin to answer because he wasn't even sure what class it was. He had a notebook out but no textbook. He had to scan the room until he realised that he was in an _English_ class. This confused Clement because he didn't think that he would be bad at a language that he was already capable of speaking! He was _English_. As in… from _England_. He didn't need this class.

All throughout the day, people continued to be nice to him. In fact, their niceness increased. Some people had told him that they didn't know if it would be strange if they'd send him flowers when he was in the hospital (?) so they refrained from doing so but they were very glad about his recovery. Clement refrained from asking why they even cared!

"Because most people don't need a payoff to be nice," Audrey told him, rolling her eyes. "People could just be… _nice_."

Clement blushed deeply. " _I_ most definitely do not need a payoff to be nice," he grumbled, crossing his thin arms over his chest. "And you're one to talk! You were nice to me simply because you believe that you had _exploited me."_

" _Was_ about to exploit you," Audrey corrected. "It's nice to see that your personality doesn't get any better with time."

"I read your article," Clement decided to mention.

"And let me guess, it was not up to your satisfaction?" Audrey asked. Clement let out the breath that was stuck in his throat."Oh my God, it really _isn't!"_

" _I_ didn't say anything..." red-faced Charlie mumbled. _Satisfactory. Unsatisfactory. Satisfactory. Unsatisfactory._

He wished he could say that she was inspiring and that her article changed something in the way that he saw her, but it didn't. It was just an article that he skimmed through, whilst he was sat in the lavatory desperate for any reading material.

If he had any romantic feelings for Audrey, he was sure that he'd find her words magical. That made sense, right? So _WHY_ was his heart beating approximately three hundred beats a minute whenever he was around her?

Audrey just went red. "Whatever. I'm not writing for _Foxy Palms_ anymore anyway. This girl called Julia took over after I left. You know, it was so I could join the football team… which I also left. Well… I haven't decided where to go next since I've already been to so many of these clubs! Um…what about you? Do _you_ have any stuff do you want to try out?" she was just teasing him, but then Clement remembered Stephen telling him about getting extracurricular activities and groaned.

"Tomorrow, Mrs Shepherd is going to give me a list of approved extracurricular activities," Clement replied. "She can't pick me up from school until six and I'm not allowed to show people from school our house address."

Audrey slowly nodded her head. "You can come to my dorm!" she suggested. "We can do homework together."

Clement groaned. The last thing he wanted to do after spending all day in school was _do his homework!_

He knew that last night, he felt like it was familiar. Doing his homework. He had a strong suspicion that he used to do his homework all the time—no wonder he cut himself to bits, because there was nothing more he despised than homework.

At lunch, he sat down with Judy, Audrey and Steel. Gloria packed him a lunch of a wholemeal tuna and cucumber toastie, a pot of yoghurt and a banana. Clement was even more bored eating than he was in class. He ate three of Judy's brownies, who spent most of lunch inhaling dust, lettuce and cucumber with a pot of dressing bigger than his banana. He told them about his extracurricular activity dilemma, and Judy looked like she was just relieved Audrey wasn't the one talking about what hobby or club would finally give her the fulfilment in life that she seemed to be searching for.

"I can _SO_ imagine you in the marching band," Judy said, mouthful of tahini-coated cucumber. Clement didn't even know what a marching band was, but it didn't sound like something any school needed.

And how was he supposed to march anywhere when he was completely bandaged up?

Steel snorted, and then leaned back against his seat. "I'm throwing him out if he tries to get into _MY_ band."

"Maybe _I_ should join the marching band," Audrey considered to which Steel just shuddered and shook his head. Clement did not want to spend his time marching for anything—or anyone. Was there a club for people that liked to obsessively wash their hands? Or one with people that disliked Maths so much they could spend hours talking about it?

"Nobody's joining my band and that's final," Steel said definitively. His hulking bicep bulged in… irritation? Disbelief? Clement didn't even know that muscles could have emotions until he met _The Steel Deal_.

"What are you going to do today?" Judy suddenly asked, perking up a little. "Like… after school?"

"Audrey has invited me to her dorm so we can study," Clement replied and Judy looked one second away from bursting into laughter. Steel stared at him like he said something weird, and Audrey went redder than anything.

" _MY_ Shoddy Audie with the Custard Body?" Judy asked between laughs. "What would she be studying for?"

"She doesn't need to," Steel explained to Clement. No. If she didn't need to be in school or get good grades, then why was she here? To join every club known to mankind? He didn't understand. "Because her Dad is a plastic surgeon that donates to this great college. She pretty much can get into that place just by sneezing on the application."

"Yes, well… um…" Clement rubbed his neck. He didn't know it was supposed to be a secret? "What's a college?"

"Oh my God, _you're amazing, Charlie_ , _"_ Judy said. He didn't understand why he was amazing? "I guess you totally don't need to college to work in a farm so… I'm going to let you off for that one. Oh, and not knowing electricity."

 _Eckeltricity_. Clement nodded his head. He looked over at Audrey, who still looked a little embarrassed. _Why?_

"Maybe _you_ shouldn't go," Steel said, disgusted. "Man, you're a lost cause. You're going to end up flipping burgers at this rate… and I'm not saying that to be mean. Because I'm not even sure if you know what flipping burgers even mean."

Clement was embarrassed to say that no, he did not know what flipping burgers meant. "I don't."

Steel shook his head. "I feel sorry for you, man." Clement felt sorry for him that he thought that the saddest thing was that he didn't know what _flipping burgers_ meant. Because Clement thought it was his lack of memories, or his obsessive-compulsive disorder that Gloria realised he had last night when she caught him washing his hands at two in the morning.

Clement rolled his eyes. When the bell rang, he walked up to Audrey and asked, "Did I say something wrong?"

Audrey just flushed al little bit more. He wondered if that also was the wrong thing to say. "You're just so…!"

He blinked a few times. He wasn't even sure what his last class was, but he was very ready to fall asleep. "So what?"

"You're just so socially awkward," Audrey told him, and Clement had a sense of déjà vu because he was sure she told him that before. Numerous times before. Yet she continued to be surprised by how socially awkward he was. But Judy and Steel were his friends too, right? That meant he wasn't as socially awkward as that bloke sitting by himself, eating a sandwich after a Steel look-a-like sneaked a piece of fuzzy cheese inside. "Can you just not—?"

Clement cut her off and then said, "I don't like it when you're mad at me." He liked her.

He really, really liked her. Holy… the revelation was kind of shocking to him. _He didn't want to upset her._

Audrey's face softened. "I'm not mad at you. I'm just…" she paused a little bit. " _UGH!_ You're just so… _SO_ — _hmmph!"_

Instead of going to class, Clement placed his hands on Audrey's shoulder and looked straight into her shiny eyes. People in the hallway stopped and were _staring_. Because they thought that they might snog. Which he was tempted to do but did not because he was afraid that something might happen. Like a nasal fracture, or him biting her tongue.

"This is _SO_ cute!" Judy probably though that if Clement stuck stickers to his bandages, it'll be cute too.

Audrey looked at him with a look of surprise on her face. "Charlie? What are you doing? _WHY_ are you squinting?"

He wasn't squinting. These glasses were perfectly fine, he huffed. "I'm not squinting."

"Yes, you are," Audrey pushed his hands off, and then rolled her eyes. "Why are you acting so…?"

Clement flushed, his ears turning red. He couldn't believe he _liked_ her! "I apologise. I should've asked for permission for—well, for _things_ …" he swayed on his feet a little from how nervous he was. "Err… I also wish to retract what I've said before during lunch that made you uncomfortable, as I would also like you to be my study date for the afternoon?"

Audrey just gawked at him, placing her hand on her cheek. "Um… uh…" at least it wasn't a flat out no, wasn't it?

Clement wondered how strange it must be for Audrey. He first asked her if he could move into her house despite knowing her for all of forty-eight hours. He made things awkward for them for… no reason. They hadn't had one thing in common with them. He was not stunned by her writing, but there was still just _something_ about Audrey that made him… feel. Feel things that were good. As if there was a fluttering _Flitterby?_ in his abdomen. Fluttering so violently that he almost felt like he was going to throw up on her shoes, and he had to hold in his sick because he didn't want to be _that_ bad.

"I don't know," Audrey replied. "Um…" she was flushing a little bit because all the attention was on them.

" _Of course_ , she'll be your study date!" Judy eased the tension a little. "Wait, do you mean a _DATE_ or just…?"

"I guess I will," Audrey said, though she sounded uncertain. She looked at him and he looked back at her. They were both flushing, and he was mildly confused. Were things going to be weird for them afterwards? Because he was sure that she now knew that he liked her. And he didn't even have to tell her to begin with. "Charlie? Um… we have class?"

"Are things going to be weird now?" Clement had no idea what just happened.

"I don't know what that was," Audrey rubbed her arm. "Charlie, do you _like_ me? Because that's just… um…"

"Yes," Clement replied. "But it was _your_ idea to have a study date after school. And… well, I didn't know that I wasn't allowed to tell anyone. But I also don't understand Shakespeare and I don't have anything better to do."

"Because it sounded like you were asking me to be your girlfriend," Audrey shook her head in disbelief. "Were you?"

"Oh?" Clement looked at her with a confusion. "Am I allowed to do this? Don't I have to wait a while…?" he thought maybe he could wait a few weeks before asking her to do this, just in case she believed that he was being premature.

"I don't know," Audrey rolled her eyes. "But yes… I'll be your girlfriend," she was smiling a little.

"Is it that easy?" Clement asked, just in case that he was missing some message. She laughed. "I have a girlfriend?" Wow.


	18. There Was a Fire A While Back?

_as i mentioned in my other fanfiction, i just finished exams (and passed them and finished my university degree, so hopefully i'll start working soon) and it's currently Ramadan, so i'm fasting for long hours... which doesn't inspire me to want to write much more than 1,000 words per chapter. so... we'll see!_

 _obvious **trigger warnings** **for sexual and child abuse here.** i won't write about it in details, it'll just be mentioned here and there. i could definitely write gory graphic scenes but i don't think that i need to. the last time that i did something similar, someone told me they just skimmed through it because it's very hard to read so i decided not to do it for this one. _

**_comment replies:_**

 _ **Dugleik** : to be perfectly fair to you, i didn't plan to write 90% of this. if you asked me where i thought i'd be going with this fanfiction up until now... yes. it's a complete contrast. i don't even know how i'm going to try to get it to the original endgame that i wanted to before (not the ending, but like it was supposed to build up to one particular plotline so...) _

_**Phoenixx Rising** : i don't usually open any comments and read 'too cute!' so i'm gonna savour this. and hope that there is another few cute moments in the future... i think a lot of fluff in a story makes me cringe but i have yet to achieve the balance of fluff that i want... so we'll see!_

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Eighteen: There Was a Fire A While Back?

* * *

Fred and George kind of had this feeling inside of the pits of their stomach that they were supposed to have moved into Grimmauld Place _ages_ ago. Well, _Fred_ did. George didn't feel that way because contrary to popular belief, he didn't share every sodding emotion with his twin. But it was kind of useless to go to Grimmauld Place at this point.

"Why do we have to go?" Fred groaned to his mum. "We start school in a _week_ , mum."

"Yeah," George shuddered, in disgust as he pulled up his loose blue sweatpants. Fred was going to help fix his twin's mood by trying to find a new way to reinvent their dungbombs to be _extra_ potent. "If we were supposed to be hiding away from danger with Harry and Hermione, then we probably should've been doing that at the beginning of summer?"

"We couldn't leave, Ron," Molly replied in irritation. She rubbed her glossy, red eyes. It was Percy's birthday yesterday.

"Why not? Harry and Hermione have been there for weeks already," Ron asked, which made Charlie sigh. Ginny rolled her eyes so dramatically that Fred was sure it would get stuck like that (which would've been cool). "What?"

"You _know_ why not," Bill whispered to Ron softly. "Six foot tall? Glasses? Uses a cleaning charm for his detergent?"

Fred nodded his head. His mom didn't want them to go because she wanted to be there just in case Percy _came back_.

"He's probably never coming back," George said in a low voice in case Molly was listening. "He's probably—…"

"He is _not_ ," Bill said through gritted teeth. "And unless they find a body, you shouldn't be thinking like that either."

Fred and George shuddered. Fred tried to imagine how it would be like finding Percy's body. As if he didn't have enough nightmares without accidentally stumbling on his brother's cold corpse any time soon.

Molly had been in an awful mood all day long. She nearly had a row with their father about the fact that they should only be packing their necessities when she found him trying to put some of his muggle toys in their suitcase. When Fred made a joke about the place being spookier than Moaning Myrtle in the toilets, his mum practically bit off his ear.

Speaking of ears—at least their mum didn't hear about their Extendable Ears. Get it? _Hear?_

That day, Molly wrote a letter to Percy and owled him the super-secret location and address of Grimmauld Place.

Moody hadn't let them forget about his upmost disappointment and how they were all going to die just because their mum couldn't let her 'fully grown criminal' find their safe house all by himself. According to him, she might as well just have sent the Death Eaters a care package along with an ugly sweater. Oh, _please_. Even if Percy was a Death Eater (which Fred was pretty sure he was not), all they had to do was throw a pot of dirt on him and Percy would convulse from disgust.

It was not him _trivialising_ (thanks, Hermione, for the Percy word) Percy's problems. It was just… well, it was _that_ bad.

At around four, Fred and George went into the kitchen to grab something to eat. Fred was kind of hoping to eat his boredom away since there was nothing to do here. Apparently, they were too young to know anything (they were waiting until they had a good opportunity to test their Extendable Ears). Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Ron were sitting there too.

 _"…that day, they were talking about a knife!"_ Ginny mentioned in a whisper. Or, what was supposed to be a whisper.

Fred and George didn't need Extendable Ears to hear that. _"Who?"_ George asked, and grabbed a handful of yoghurt-covered raisins which made Fred want to gag. Sometimes, he didn't even know how they shared a womb.

"Charlie and mum," Ron admitted. "They were talking about finding a knife in Percy's room."

"Charlie said it was really bent and shapeless," Ginny also grabbed a handful of the raisins and shoved the whole handful into her mouth. If Percy was here, he'd be so disgusted at Ginny's lack of _lady_ -ness. Hermione fixed her white blouse, looking like she'd rather be talking about something boring (it was how it looked like to Fred, okay?).

"That's mean," Fred decided to say. "Talking about Percy like that. He's not shapeless. With a head _that_ big…"

"But he's right about the bent part," George supplemented, which Fred was pretty sure he was going to say. "A knife?"

"Yes, a knife," Ginny was irritated. "A big, hulking thing that nobody wanted to tell us about because we're _too young—"_

Ginny was cut off when nineteen-year-old Penelope Clearwater closed the kitchen door. She wore the shortest pair of shorts that Fred had ever seen in his life. He sometimes wondered how Percy even dated this girl, considering he once had a row with Ginny over her 'revealing' tank top. It was stark in the muddle of summer and even Percy was sweating through his long-sleeved button-down (he looked like a prick in _all_ seasons). That didn't even touch the fact that his ex-girlfriend apparently liked to wear crop tops that were so small that even Fred could see her chest vessels. Yuck.

 _"Penny!"_ Ginny looked relieved to see her. "What… what are you doing here?"

Penelope looked away from the fridge, turning into a distinct shade of red. "Ginny?" she sounded surprised. "Oh!"

Ginny hopped off the chair and went to hug Penelope, who was uncharacteristically tall for a woman. Oh, and Fred noticed that Penelope did the same awkward thing that Percy did when someone hugged him—which was stiffen quicker than a corpse. Which Fred hoped that Percy was currently _not_ doing. Thanks for that, Bill.

"What are you doing here?" Ginny sounded surprised.

Penelope just rubbed her neck. "Um… your mum sent me an owl because she's been worried sick since my last visit. She's scared that whatever I knew about Percy is pretty important, so I dropped by to tell her what I know and to calm her down. She sounds like she really needs some sleep," she was right about that. Molly had probably slept ten hours a _WEEK_ right now, which, you know was not enough for anyone to function on, particularly not someone that did more dry cleaning than a wizarding laundromat. "I thought to drop by since I live around the area anyway and… well, um… I told your mother a few things about… some things that I know."

 _"Things?"_ George perked up. "Like how Percy had a knife in his room?"

The way her face contorted when she heard George say that made it obvious that she knew about the knife.

"You _do_ know about Percy's knife!" Fred couldn't help but say. "You probably know more than just his knife…"

"Guys, you should really stay out of this," Penelope cooed softly. "You shouldn't get involved in this."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "We _should_ be getting involved in this, Penny." Fred was sure too. He was sure that Harry, Ron and Hermione proved that they all should be getting involved when it came to saving them all from a giant basilisk. And if it wasn't for them, Penelope would still be petrified but… she knew best, right? She was a Ravenclaw. _HA_.

"He's my _brother_ , Penny. And he's been missing for _months_ now," Ginny reminded her, her voice wavering a little bit. "Do you really think that shielding us away is really going to help when he could be real danger right now?"

 _Or could've been. We could just be looking for a body!_ Fred thought to himself. _Thanks again, Bill._

Fred was sure that Ginny deserved a prize for that fake wobbly voice she had when she wanted something.

"Um… I really can't…" Penelope was rubbing her arm. "I…" she cleared her throat. "Um…"

Ginny looked at her with those pleading eyes that Fred was sure was the same eyes she gave their dad when she wanted a new broomstick. "If you came all the way here to tell our mum, then it's important for us to know too," she said. "But even if you don't tell us, we're just going to find out anyway. So, it's better that we hear it from _you_ … don't you think?"

Fred was suddenly pretty relieved that Ginny didn't end up in Slytherin. They'd be doomed if she was.

Penelope swallowed. "Yeah, he… uh…" she bit down her lower lip. "He…" Penelope looked like she wanted to cry. Fred didn't want to deal with water works, so he was glad when Penelope steadied herself. "He cuts himself, Gin."

Ginny's face contorted into a look crossed between shock and confusion. "What?"

Penelope looked like she seriously regretted saying anything. "As in—he has a knife in his room because he self-harms with that knife," she explained. "A _lot_ of troubled young people do, and Percy already has… um—mental problems."

"What do you mean _he cuts himself?"_ George sounded out incredulously. Fred was stunned. "What _FOR?"_

"It's an unhealthy coping mechanism?" Hermione offered. Thanks, because Fred didn't know it was _unhealthy_.

Fred could sort of understand the reasoning behind wanting to be clean all the time (sort of, definitely not to the extent that Percy was) but Fred couldn't reason with the fact that his brother dragged a knife down his skin to cope with… what? The fact that he dared to live another day? Did Percy try to _kill_ himself?

"He tried to explain it to me but what he said didn't really make any sense to me because he was hysterical. And his reasoning didn't really hold a lot of… reason. It's probably why Percy was never in Ravenclaw…" Penelope whispered, rubbing her arm. "I think something happened to him that he…I don't know. Something in his childhood probably. Because when he came to me, he wasn't himself. He looked _scared_. I didn't know what to make of it, okay?"

Penelope cleared her throat. "He told me that he was dirty, and that he didn't really want to hurt himself, just…"

Just what? See how much blood he had in his body? Fred wondered. Didn't he have a big book that could tell him that?

"I think his old psychiatric healer probably knows why," Penelope said. "Didn't you find it strange how he just labelled Percy as post traumatic stress disorder and he reacted to negatively to it? They don't just tell _anyone_ they have PTSD…"

She was fumbling with the strap of her bag, and Fred tried to digest what she just said. Wait, she knew that he cut himself and she didn't think that this was an important thing to mention to them? Even before Percy just disappeared into thin air, it was kind of a big deal. Fred was shocked. Did she just let him do that without telling anyone about it?

"Just what? He feels like if he cuts himself, he'll be _clean?"_ Fred didn't think that made any sense at all.

"Yes," Penelope said softly. "I know it doesn't make any sense but… but Percy is really, _really_ sick. Mentally ill people don't have to make sense all the time, that's why they're mentally ill, but he said something that-that…"

"Seriously, Penelope?" Charlie's voice made Penelope jump out of her heel. She looked like a Chaser that had a Bludger hurling towards them. "Thanks for being so forthcoming with my kid brother and sister about this information. The information you didn't want to tell us about because you respected _Percy's privacy_."

Fred didn't want to see his parents standing there, or Bill. This was not the way he wanted them to _talk_ about it.

He was pretty sure that they collectively didn't want to talk about what happened, which probably didn't help the situation.

"Leave her alone, Charlie," Ginny rolled her eyes. "She didn't have to tell you anything, but she's here, isn't she?" she turned to Penelope and offered her a very warm smile. "You were saying about him saying something about…?"

Penelope stiffened. "Never mind," she was playing with the strap of her bag. "Thanks for having me, Mrs Weasley."

She moved to squeeze Molly's shoulder, who looked extremely tired and vacant-eyed. Their mum had been losing a lot of weight recently.

Molly was lost in her thoughts. "There is more to it?" a look of surprise crossed her face. "More than…?"

Penelope cleared her throat. "Well… um… do you follow the muggle news?"

Jeez, no! Fred rolled his eyes. They didn't follow the wizarding news, much less the muggle news. Plus, it wasn't like there was a new war looming over them to the point where they all had to be here in Grimmauld Place, right?

"What about it?" Hermione, of course, did follow the London muggle news. When did she have time to do all of this?

"There was a fire in a London alleyway on the papers the night that Percy left," Penelope said. Hermione nodded her head. "From what I read in the papers, they mentioned hooded figures in the muggle papers. I think… I think that they probably meant Death Eaters. But they found cleaning products at the area, and lots of them. Leaking cleaning products that probably started a fire. I think Percy probably started it to get away. Because it sounds like a Death Eater attack."

"A fire in muggle London?" Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Out of what? Percy forgot his wand in the Burrow."

"They found cigarettes in the alley," Penelope said a little too quickly, her ears turning red again. Fred watched her pull out the battered papers from her bag and offer it to a tentative-looking Arthur, who was quieter than a mouse. A mouse that just happened to also be dead. "Cigarettes and drippy cleaning products are a pretty quick way to start a fire."

"You're saying that Perce, who hates getting dirty, would be smoking a cigarette in a dirty alley in London?" Bill scoffed.

Penelope nodded her head fervently. "Yes," she said. "You really believe that Percy doesn't smoke?"

" _I'd_ notice if my son smelled like a cauldron factory exploded," Arthur said, offended.

Penelope's ears went red again, and she looked like she was about to dissolve in a muddle of nerves. Fred thought that she and Neville Longbottom post-Potions class would get along quite well. "Um… well… what I mean is…" she rubbed her neck. "I'm sorry, Mr Weasley, but do you really not know that Percy _smokes?_ He's practically a chimney."

Penelope noticed the defeated look on Molly's face. "Oh," her voice softened.

"So, I don't know my child at all is what you're saying?" Molly asked, and Penelope just shied away, cheeks red.

"No, it's just…" Penelope just fumbled with her strap again. No wonder her bag looked so threadbare if she wouldn't stop playing with it. She looked away from Molly, who looked like she was on the verge of giving up. "If there was a fire, it makes sense why nobody's find a body then, hasn't it? You could read the report, but… I just…I…"

"No, no, no, _nononono_ ," Molly paled. "That's not possible. It's not…"

Fred had never felt his heart hurt so much or feel so heavy as he watched his father reach to hold Molly as she crumbled just at the possibility that Penelope was right. Fred didn't know if he believed Penelope. He was a little sick of seeing her face and her three stones' worth of ash blonde curls. She looked like a wood nymph just found her way to Hogwarts.

"I'm sorry," Penelope said softly. "I'm so very sorry, I…" she moved to rub her hand against Molly's shoulder.

"It's best if you leave us alone, love," Arthur said, his hand clutching onto her battered muggle papers.

 _At least he wasn't ignoring her letter if he really was dead, right?_ Fred thought, and he didn't even realise until then that his cheeks were wet, and his face was flushed. Deep down, despite how much he hated Penelope Clearwater, he _believed_ her. He knew that Arthur and Molly were going to get the Aurors involved. He knew that they were going to talk to the witnesses. He knew that they were going to try and salvage whatever was left of the London alleyway fire as evidence to try and discern whether or not Percy was actually there. But deep down, Fred already knew what they were going to say.

He already knew that this _had_ to have happened. He knew deep down they had always been chasing after a ghost.

MEANWHILE, Clement Charlie Jones was sat in his house far, far away completely oblivious to what was happened just a bus stop away from him. He was sitting on Audrey Claire Brown's bed in the London Fox-Palmer Academy. He was making notes that were tidy enough to sell for a pound to Desperate Don, who had apparently been asking the whole school for notes now that the exam season was looming by. He'd just woken up from a thirty-minute kip. He was sat on his squishy abdomen, and eating chocolate spread, honey and banana sandwiches. Clement couldn't believe that he had a _girlfriend_.

It had only been a week, but he was still excited about it. It even softened the blow of having have failed his English test.

He didn't understand how he was so mentally challenged. The teacher wanted to test him for _learning disabilities_. Especially when he kept asking for meanings of words that apparently ten-year-olds knew the meaning of.

But was it really Clement's fault that he did not know what a _tractor_ was, or how it was supposed to be spelled?

Audrey was different with him than she was with everyone else. Did you know that Audrey was supposed to be wearing glasses? Because Clement didn't know. She wore these things she called _contact lenses_ instead, even though she looked ten times better with her thick-framed amber-coloured glasses. She liked to do her homework, and she was so smart, but she tried to make it sound like she was air-headed to everyone that she met because it wasn't cool to get A*s anymore.

Even though they were supposed to be doing homework, there was something on her mind right now. Clement hoped that it wasn't her regretting their one-week relationship already, because he was working up the courage to ask her out on a date. But he didn't know anywhere in this part of London except for _CAROL'S WEDDING BOUTIQUE_.

"Charlie," Audrey's voice was a little wavering. "When you were asleep, you were talking about someone. A… _Clarence?"_

 _Clarence._ Clement felt his shoulders stiffen. "I believe that he was my uncle," he could not remember his mother that died of breast cancer, or his father that he never really memories with. He could barely remember how the farm looked like. But he had been having nightmares about _this_ every night. Last night, Gloria scheduled him for his first therapy session for because he'd started to pick at his skin recently. But he was _fine_. "I feel like my mum was close to all of her brothers, but especially him since two of her other brothers died during a tragedy? But… he… _touched_ …"

When Clement watched Audrey's eyes widen, he cleared his throat. "Charlie," she called out desperately. Her voice made his shoulder slump and his heart melt. He felt so disgusting and dirty and… Merlin, he _needed_ to use the bathroom.

"He got married when I was fifteen," Clement rubbed his red, swollen hand. "I-I…it may have gotten worse when it was nearing his wedding. I can't be sure, but I think it did. It started when I was… I don't even want to— _um_ …"

"Do you want to…?" Audrey was about to ask him if he wanted to talk about it, but Clement just shook his head.

"I'm fine," he said curtly, looking back at his homework that he didn't understand. Audrey placed her hand on the small of his back and then watched her move closely to him, burying her head into his arm. "I apologise. This is unconventional. For me to let you know something I've never told anyone in so little time and…" Clement's lip was quivering.

"There is no conventional way to say what you just told me," Audrey said softly, running her hand through his hair.

Audrey cleared her throat. "Charlie, you should talk about this to someone," her voice was soft. "Please."

Clement relaxed, but he also realised where he got that funny feeling where he wanted to tear off his skin. He felt so dirty inside, like the only way that he could ever get rid of that feeling was to let it seep out from his skin.

"No," he said softly. "No, no, no," he felt his throat closing up. "It happened years ago."

Audrey looked worried. "Charlie—"

"Audrey, please," Clement stared at him with begging shiny blue eyes and Audrey just stared back at him with soft eyes. She moved to cup his cheek and stroke it very softly with her finger. He didn't know what this was, but he felt his heart and body become warm and pliant. Like broken-in leather trousers—which he decided only looked good on Steel.

"It's alright," she told him, and he took a deep breath. "You don't have to tell me anything," she promised.

"Good," Clement felt himself relax, but then he started to feel unwell again. "Where is your bathroom?"

Clement didn't miss the look that she suddenly gave him when he asked that. It was as if it finally hit her how ill he actually was. He didn't realise it then, but she didn't think about it much because she didn't care about him when he was just the new bloke that collapsed in the school toilets. But now, he was her _boyfriend_. And she cared very much if he could barely imply what happened years ago without wanting to rip off his skin.


	19. I Can't Swim!

_**Phoenixx Rising** : i knew from the beginning of this fanfiction when i made his OCD an issue that i wanted to play up that plotline...it's an extremely delicate plotline but hopefully, i can make it work! i just hope that all these mini plotlines i have in my head come together like i want them to. _

* * *

**Muggle Me**  
Chapter Nineteen: I Can't Swim

* * *

"I know that you don't know much about yourself, so I thought that maybe we can try different things and see what you like," Audrey told Clement, as they were standing outside, eating ice-cream that was unnaturally melting. It was his reward for getting his first high mark in his English class. Even though he circled the word _fan_ five times. He was starting to really enjoy studying, even though he had an unrelenting fear of failure that came out of nowhere. Huh. That might explain why he used to study so much. It didn't sound like a nice existence though—working himself to the bone just to get a score on a test, and no matter how high it was, it was never satisfying? It sounded like an awful existence. "You're a stranger to yourself. In fact, you're practically meeting yourself for the first time now. It's so poetic, don't you think?"

Clement was not sure if he liked chocolate buttons in his vanilla ice-cream. "I had traumatic brain injury. _That's_ poetic?"

"Um… well, when you put it like that," Audrey rolled her eyes. She wasn't wearing her glasses, which he noticed she didn't wear when she went outside. Clement was sure that Audrey tried very hard to fit it. "You know, you were so much nicer when you didn't know what the square root of Pi was. Now, you're an insufferable know-it-all, which I have a feeling you probably _were_ before you lost your memory. Because every time I see you; you become _gittier_."

"That is not a real word," Clement said. "If you keep squinting that hard, you may burst a blood vessel."

" _You_ know what a blood vessel is?" obviously, the lack of glasses was a touchy subject with Audrey. "Why are you so obsessed with the fact that I'm a little different around you than I am around Judy and Steel?"

"A _little?"_ Clement echoed. He finished his vanilla cone and debated whether or not he should get another one. Audrey told him that he was a disgusting pig because he needed to eat every hour. She was sure that he'd convinced himself that he'd die from consumption if he didn't eat. Clement didn't think he had tuberculosis. He learned that word from his brand-new favourite dictionary. "When we're in school and Steel makes one of his awful jokes, you-you respond with this infuriating piercing fake laugh that makes me want to stab myself with a knife! You wear your skirts short like every other woman in our grade, even though you keep pulling it down every two minutes. It is seriously obvious that you are not comfortable wearing them. You wear your hair like Judy does in school, but when we're alone, you tie it back into a bun because you don't like to be constantly fussing with your hair. And worst of all, you're in the volleyball team _now_. But a month ago, you already happened to mention to me that you _hate_ volleyball. So, _WHY_ are you on the team?"

"Because I'm the best that team has had so far!" Audrey replied. "Wouldn't _you_ want to be a part of something you're good at? Even if you _don't_ like it? If you know that you're the best in that-that activity?"

Clement thought about it for a few moments. "It's not healthy," he knew that he was not answering her question.

"You're going to talk to me about healthy?" Audrey gawked at him, almost laughably. "You? The guy that wanted to pour gasoline on his hands when he accidentally tripped into the mud? The guy that slept for forty-five minutes the night before our last exam because you were too stressed out about it? The guy that picks at his skin in class because he's too afraid to be called on for a question that he doesn't know the answer to? You're the expert on _healthy living?"_

"Well, I wouldn't say healthy per say but…" Clement's cheeks coloured in.

He was sure that if he was very good at something, he'd be part of the team too. Even if he hated it.

"You know what else isn't healthy? Eating three ice-cream cones just to try to find out what toppings you like," Audrey rolled her eyes. Clement had a vanilla one with chocolate buttons, bits of flake (which was one of his favourites) and a vanilla Oreo cone. "That is not the kind of self-discovery that I was talking about. Neither is testing out hand sanitisers."

Clement didn't have a favourite hand sanitiser yet. "I'm sick of discovering things about myself."

Recently, he'd realised that he had a sickening infatuation with sketching everything that he saw. He was appallingly at it, but he couldn't tell anyone about it because what was he supposed to do with a handful of poorly constructed doodles? He could probably make Jackson Pollock look less like a two-year-old with a temper tantrum with his uneven strokes and tired lines. Every night that Clement felt anxious, he dreamed of the clocks in Salvador Dali's _Persistence of Memory_ , and he felt a calmness he did not know before. Great. He had discovered that he was a closeted artist. The only paintings that people knew about was the ones that he carved into his flesh. Just like most painters, he was doomed to a life of insanity.

On the bright side, if he killed himself by suicide, his self-harm would be horrific expressions of his anguish and pain?

"What did you discover? That your best mate ten years ago was a vacuum cleaner?" Audrey asked. Clement huffed, because he _still_ didn't know how to use a vacuum cleaner or why it made that noise when it sucked the dirt from the carpets. He was sure that he must've been living in a vacuum if he didn't know what a feather duster looked like until he looked through Gloria's whole house from top to bottom. But on the plus side, he had _so much to clean!_

Clement rolled his eyes. "No," he said flatly. "I deserved that I like to… that I might have a slight interest in art."

Audrey looked shocked. _"What?"_ she looked interested now. Wonderful. His own girlfriend wasn't that interested in their conversation until he casually happened to mention that he might enjoy drawing. " _You_ enjoy _ART?_ You know that you can't call a clean room art, right? That actual art can be messy. And didn't you actually faint the first time that the art teacher showed us a few samples of Jackson Pollocks' works? She thought you had an issue with _your heart valves!"_

"What's really interesting is that people worship this forty-year-old unfaithful alcoholic that dares to call his post booze binge colour vomit _abstract expressionism!_ The only thing that it expresses is that anyone would believe anything!" Clement replied back hotly, feeling his cheeks turn red as he waved his fists around. "It's a wonder he could barely hold a brush right considering he had a problem managing to drive a steering wheel straight."

"Wow," Audrey looked amused. This was further exasperated by the fact that she was wearing shorts that were too short and it was obvious that she was uncomfortable because she was tugging down at her cardigan and blouse. "And what about your work? For our art assignments, are you going to turn in blank canvases to explain your psychological state?"

Clement had never been so offended in his life. He huffed and walked away from her, because he would not sit there and be laughed at. He didn't think he'd told many people in his life that he was interested in art to begin with.

The nerve of her! He told her things that he'd never wanted to face, and she laughed at his face! She wanted to be so much like everyone else. She'd even took to ridiculing him just because the rest of the world was doing it. Clement didn't have to have straight A*s to know that the only reason that people were nice to him in that school was because Judy liked him. Judy, who every other girl in school tried to emulate—including his girlfriend. On his first day of school, he was sat there bleeding in the lavatory, and nobody bothered to help him as he had a complete mental breakdown. He was not proud of what he did. He knew that his thoughts were irrational, but he couldn't help himself! _He was ill!_

And _where_ were the nice people then? And Audrey…? Audrey wanted to interview him for a paper!

As he headed back into the school grounds, Clement sat by himself on a bench. The football team was just about to finish their practice, and he _still_ had two hours to go before Gloria was going to pick him up.

He sighed deeply. The memories were becoming more vivid, and Clement was eying the sleeping pills in Gloria's cabinet. He just wanted to sleep without any dreams. He didn't know how many he should take. If it was in a purple liquid, he sort of had an idea of how much he should take. Clement took off his rucksack and pulled out his homework. It took him an hour to finish his homework with neat and perfect handwriting. He felt a little satisfied, but there was an unsettling feeling in his stomach. Clement wondered if he might have GORD from all the ice-cream he ate…

He dozed off at the bench, which was exactly what he did _NOT_ want to do.

Clement could barely sleep without thinking of _it_. Trying to wash away his feelings was relentless and futile—and yet, he could not stop cleaning his hands for Merlin's sake! Even though it had been a few years since the last time it happened, he knew it in his heart it had still gone on for a decade… and _nobody knew about it_. That meant that his mother died of breast cancer not knowing what happened to him. His father, that had vanished into thin air, didn't know that he'd lived a childhood of trauma and anguish. And somehow, this burden felt about five stones on his body.

Maybe _that_ was why he ate like he was five stones heavier than he was!

He felt someone shaking him awake and wondered how stupid he must've looked like. His nightmares made him shake like he was having a fit—or as Steel once pointed out, like he was having an orgasm in the middle of their English class (absolutely disgusting). When Clement opened his eyes, he saw that Audrey was looking worried. She'd stared at him like he'd just announced that he was going to elope with Steel and have his marching band play at their impromptu wedding. Or like he'd just told her that he had decided to become an organ donor. The bloke that needed a _skin graft_. Wonderful.

She placed a hand on his freckled cheek and stroked it a little. "Charlie?" who in the devil was— _oh_. That was him.

Groggily, Clement looked around and realised that it was just him and Audrey now at the football field. From this angle, he could practically see how uncomfortable her Judy-copy-cat jean shorts were. Also, the sun was burning a hole in his skull. But other than that, he supposed that he was glad to be alive. No one else could consistently disappoint Gloria after all. But now that he just woke up, all he could think about was the fact that it was horrible that Gloria let him wait so long for her every day. But Audrey _chose_ to wait with him! _For no reason!_ Well, _that_ was sweeter than flakes on vanilla ice-cream!

"I'm sorry about upsetting you," Audrey said, sitting beside him. He'd already forgotten what she'd done to upset him. "Can you show me the stuff that you've been drawing? I promise I won't laugh. I just… I want to see."

"Um… yes… in theory I could, but…" Clement rubbed his glossy eyes. "Bear in mind, I'm not exactly Oliver Cartwright!" she didn't seem to recognise the name. How odd.

He was better than Jackson Pollock. But his sketches were no _Girl with The Pearl Earring_. Then again, he wouldn't use his drawings to clean his hands with after he washed! This, of course, was a giant compliment to his own non-existent skill and lack of talent. Clement pulled out his sketchpad and then looked at the house that he'd been trying to draw for days on end. He had named it _The Burrow_ , even though he doubted a rabbit would need such elaborate—and perilous—housing. It was something of an anxiety-producing hazard, with all those layers stacked up upon each other. Clement had seen five-year-olds bake better composed cakes. The house was like one of Steel's Jenga towers ready to collapse. There was a barn, a shed and a chicken couple nearby but he felt like there was still something left to be desired. As if something was—

Audrey tore his sketchbook from his hand and then looked at it with laser-focused eyes. " _You_ did this?"

Clement's freckled cheeks reddened. "Well, it's a hobby, alright?" he said. "It's not exactly a _career choice_ —"

"It should be," Audrey said seriously. "Wow. It looks amazing." He'd laugh but the last time she sounded like that was when they were walking to a nearby park (don't tell Gloria, she'd maim him) and the view was so spectacular that was all she could say. And Clement agreed wholeheartedly. "It _should_ be a career choice… it almost makes me believe that there really is a house in the world that could look like that without crumbling down! It's-it's… like it's being held up by some sort of magic! Even the grass looks breath-taking! And-and-and it looks like a farm… wow, you grew up in one, right?"

Somehow, Audrey's words made him realise that he was drawing _his_ house… which it couldn't possibly be!

Because he was sure that there were about ten laws of physics disproving its own existence!

God, what was going on in his mind? Of course, the house that Clement remembered looked like it was falling apart. It was where Clarence had—… _it was in his parents' bedroom_. Clement remembered that so vividly he might as well start drawing that-that-that red carpet that haunted him more than the gooey red pooling from his torso. Great. Shocking. Wonderful. Clement could butcher himself like a cow but staring at woven fabric gave him heart palpitations! But he doubted that he could trust his memory. He… the bloke that barely remembered his own bloody name to begin with!

"Oh my God," Audrey said, realising the look on his face. When did she become such an expert in reading his facial expressions and body language? "This _is_ your house, isn't it? This is a _memory_."

"It's not physically possible," grumbled Clement, looking down at his feet. "Even the grass looks unnatural."

"I believe you," Audrey said seriously. "Why wouldn't you?"

"Because the only other witnesses that are more unreliable than _me_ are probably in comas," Clement told her.

Audrey looked down at the picture, like she was analysing it. She could authenticate art now?! And it wasn't exactly art yet. This was only his first draft. He was going to convince Gloria that he needed a canvas for his art class… well, he was going to have to paint it after all. He wanted the oily stuff that came into a bottle. Clement wasn't sure what it was but he was sure that Brian Haver shouldn't be sniffing it and pretending to be intoxicated by the fumes.

"You know why I think it's a memory?" Audrey smirked. "Because you drew it _crooked_. And I don't know any other reason you'd draw something crooked with that stick so firmly shoved up your arse unless that's how it was like!"

Clement looked at the house. "You… well…" he fumbled. _"You have no right!"_ he weakly disputed.

Audrey looked absolutely smug, because she knew that she'd won that argument! "Oh, Charlie," she pinched his cheek.

"That's enough!" he rubbed his cheek. Who did she think she was? Just because she was his girlfriend didn't— _oh_.

But now that she mentioned it, Clement was sure that that house was supposed to be five chimneys there, not four. He was sure the new one had been added… wait, what was he doing? This house didn't actually _exist_. There was no way all those rooms could be added to that house without it falling down. And he should straighten that sign! Well, he would, if only the fact that he knew that that sign had never been straight for a… he rubbed his eyes. And what was with these rusty black bowl and rubber boots by the house door? Even the chickens looked more discombobulated than he was! Was this actually a house or was this a missing scene from _The Wizard of Oz?_ And where was that damned yellow brick road?

As he eagerly fixed the mistakes, he'd only succeeded in making the house look even more ethereal. Lovely.

 _It's alright,_ Charlie, he told himself. _As long as you're not seeing angels and ghosts, then you're fine, aren't you?_

"I want to paint it," Clement admitted, his voice soft. "For our art class…. I thought it would be—um— _different_."

Audrey looked over his shoulder at the changes that he was making and looked amused. Oh, she should just sod off instead of giving him that ' _I knew I was right'_ look that she was so good at. "If you paint it, then I think there's a real chance of it being something serious—eventually," Audrey said enthusiastically. "I'm sure there are art galleries for starving artists like yourself, just waiting to be recognised. I bet our art teacher knows plenty about them…you should talk after class!"

She was absolutely mad. "Do you know what the chances of that?" Clement spat out icily. "That is-that is… _absurd!"_

Clement was pretty sure that making a living off paper and colours was not exactly the wisest decision one could make.

"What's so absurd about it?" she challenged. "You banged your head up against the wall and it somehow erased all your memories… which by the way is _not_ possible—but it's happened, right?"

Clement flushed deeply. "Well—um… it's possible! It's happened to me!"

"Only you!" Audrey reminded him. "You do know that you're the only person in the universe that has forgotten _everything?_ I've read a lot in the papers about people losing their memories, but I've never met anyone that's forgotten everything! But I believed you, didn't I? The doctor that you told this to believed you too! Even though _you're the first!_ But somehow, the concept of making a money off a painting is foreign to you! You don't want to admit that people can actually get famous off things like this? That people could actually make a living off selling their artwork?"

 _Yes, maybe when I'm dead!_ Clement thought bitterly. But at least his dwindling sanity made for a wonderful story.

But he was stunned. His heart was beating a hundred kilometres a minute. "Are you calling me a liar?" he accused weakly.

"Oh, you know what I meant!" Audrey was right. He did know.

He knew that she was right. Even the doctor that saw him after his accident told him that he'd never seen anyone lose memories in the way that he did. In the beginning, the doctor even thought that he was lying until he realised that he was socially inept! He'd referred him to psychiatry for _dissociative amnesia_ during the time where he was half-friends with Marcus. However, thinking about it made him feel sick. Because he was _not_ faking his own memory loss.

Clement shook his head. "It's illogical to think that I'd be one of the few that would actually profit from-from _art!"_

"Are you serious, Charlie? Everything you do is illogical!" her hands had turned into fists, and she was sweating profusely. He supposed it was a hot day. "Your obsessive-compulsive disorder has no reason. The weird things that you mumble during your sleep don't make any sense. You have no semblance of normal social protocol. You don't know what a tractor or God or religion or what a fan is supposed to do, but somehow, you have the most philosophical background of anyone I know! You are so intelligent, and I don't even know _how_ you're intelligent because you're not conventionally—"

"Stop it," Clement felt his mood worsen. "Stop making fun of me—"

"Making fun of you? I'm not making fun of you! I'm stunned by you! I'm-I'm shocked by your existence! I thought I knew how everyone was like…then I met you." Audrey huffed at him. "But you're not helping yourself."

"Pardon me?" Clement nearly dropped his sketchbook. He was not helping himself? "Um… well… I don't—"

" _Charlie, LISTEN to ME!"_ Audrey yelled. "You have a gift and a raw natural talent for something that you enjoy? Something that could be career? Don't you see that? You know I try so hard to find something I love like this but…but I haven't. And so many people won't ever know too! Yes, I love conventional things, Charlie, but you have a real gift. And if you don't use it to make a career out of it after we graduate because you aren't 100% convinced about the turn-out, then you're a coward! And you're just running away from something that would actually make you _happy_ because you're too scared of failing."

When she said that, Clement shuddered. "Because that is what I do," he said. "That is what I have always done."

He had no memories. How could he have a safety zone? Wasn't everything new territory? Or was he fooling himself all along? Was he afraid to know, especially when all he could think about was all the bad things that had happened?

Audrey pulled him closer and they were just inches away from each other's face. " _You need this,"_ she said. "You need this like you need the therapy sessions or-or the skin graft the surgeons tell you to get. But you're so scared of leaving something so familiar. But I think that this is who you really are—I think you've always probably liked it… but you're too terrified to even consider the possibility. Now, tell me, how are you ever going to get any better, Charlie, if you don't _try?"_

Clement opened his mouth but he didn't know what to say. "I…" he never felt as he did right then, to see her desperation. She wanted him to get better so badly that she was thrashing him around like a rock. "Well…you make excellent points."

Audrey's hands were on his arms, and he hadn't even noticed. She was clinging onto him so tightly. "Take the leap, Charlie."

"Um…" Clement was unsure. He then cleared his throat. "Well, I can't swim?" he said with uncertainty.


	20. Percy is Dead?

_**comment replies:**_

 _ **courgette96** : i love how much you love these two! that's a great compliment. sometimes, when you write two people together, they don't work out too well and this Audrey is a little different from the others... well, they all have stuff in common, but as for Percy getting professional help, you'll just have to wait and see. Gloria and Stephen have... interesting personalities so to speak. they're really regimented people. _

_**Phoenixx Rising** : i hope so... i can make it line up but the way i considered makes me want sad. it'll be too boring for me to write!_

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Twenty: Percy is Dead?

* * *

"Well, Arthur, you know I wouldn't want to be the one breaking this to you. I'm sure that one of your Auror mates are far better equipped than I to deliver such a delicate piece of news, but I feel obliged to, especially since… _well_ … of the—um…" Fudge cleared his throat and was glancing at the papers on his desk. "There's no point in dancing around it. We both know that the Aurors have launched a manhunt for your son. Percy had to answer to some very shocking accusations. I'm sure you've read them in The Daily Prophet… or some of the owls I've heard you've been receiving down in your department!"

"Yes, Mr Minister," Arthur was not here to butter the Minister's arse. "I'm aware of the _accusations_."

"I bet it's a change," Fudge let out a laughter and Arthur stiffened. "You've been getting more owls than me these days!"

Arthur cleared his throat. "Pardon me, Mr Minister, but did you bring me here to talk about owl post?" he asked. He was going to get fired if he kept this up. "Because I have some work I would like to get back to… _if_ you don't mind."

"Yes, yes, well…" Fudge ruffled through the papers on his desk. "I have some unfortunate news about the investigation."

Arthur's heart skipped a few beats looking at the Minister's desk. There were wanted posters with Percy's face on them amongst the stacked papers and broken quills. He hated looking at them. He couldn't get over how young Percy actually was. Barely out of Hogwarts! But here they were… wanted posters for a just-barely-twenty-year-old that were battered with red ink. And a warning about approaching him with caution! He'd seen better treated crups.

"Do you want to talk about a bad picture, or do you want to hear about the investigation?" Fudge sneered. "Because I, too, have some work I would like to get back to. And I'm sure you noticed that none of it involves tinkering with toys."

If this wasn't so serious, he bet that Fred and George would find it hilarious. This was just a big fat disgusting _joke_.

"I'm sorry, Mr Minister," Arthur was angry. They used his favourite picture. "Could you tell me about the investigation?"

"Well, _YES! Thank you for asking!"_ Fudge's tone couldn't be more condescending if he tried. "Well… after Miss Clearwater relayed her concerns to us—as she should've, the Aurors scrutinised this muggle alleyway based on her intuition. Their inquiry, as you can imagine, was very thorough. Although not as thorough as Percival's would've been!" he laughed.

Arthur grimaced. He hoped the Aurors proceeded with caution in case Percy attacked with a mop!

"But _unfortunately_ , the magical forensic wand analysis confirmed that Percival had been in that alley that day," when Fudge said that, Arthur's heart sank. "We think that Miss Clearwater's theory is correct. She believes that he created a fire with cigarettes and leaky cleaning products as a failed escape route after discovering he was wandless. The Auror department's working theory is that the Death Eater have probably tried to confront him after he's been spotted in Diagon Alley. Well, we assume that it's happened after he'd been seen. Because the timings on both muggle and wizarding papers are the same, so it must've happened within seconds. Oh… that's the problem with apparition, isn't it? Makes it hard to know which is first. I suppose that your son made several impudent mistakes. I suppose I did too by hiring—"

Arthur cut Fudge off, which irritated him. "There was _no body?"_ he felt empty.

Fudge tried to maintain his composure. "No, Arthur, we didn't find a body. But although, there was no body recovered—"

"No offence, Mr Minister... sir," Arthur didn't even feel satisfied cutting him off, or seeing how much it bothered him. "But I'm not about to tell my wife that my child died in a fire in an alley all alone just on your _theory_ that— _"_

Fudge cleared his throat, and then puffed his chest. " _BUT ALTHOUGH_ there was no body recovered at the scene, the products themselves were very telling. Your son… had a particular infatuation for Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover!" he smiled. Arthur wanted to break his teeth because he was right. Percy bought industrial-sized tubs of it. "Oh, and everyone knew that kid could barely get through a few hours without shaking from that nicotine withdrawal."

Arthur was emotionless on the inside. _Everyone knew,_ he echoed in his mind. _Even the sodding Minister knew_.

"And as if he needed that incentive!" Fudge waved a fist in the air. "That boy of yours is so unhinged that I'm not even completely sure that he started that fire as an escape route! I wouldn't be shocked if he tried to set himself on fire. Godric, his healer was sure he'd been fantasising about it. And he only knew your kid for three months!"

Arthur looked like he'd just been smacked by the Minister. "No, no, no, no, _no_ ," he said, though he doubted that any healer would tell the Minister of Magic that Percy was a lunatic in quite those words. "You don't understand."

"I understand perfectly well," replied Fudge. "You aren't thinking straight, Arthur. You're in shock."

He couldn't believe he just said that to the Minister. But Fudge practically looked like he thrived off Arthur's vulnerability.

"No, no, no Percy… he wouldn't have died like that," was Arthur's weak retort. "There's _no way_ that he would die in a dirty alley. He'd-he'd rather… he's rather…" What would he rather do? Die? That was what he _did_.

Merlin, what was he doing? Making a fool of himself in front of the Minister of Magic?

But would _you_ believe the same Minister that thought that Dumbledore was the root of all evil and that _Harry Potter_ , the same bloke that saved them all from the war, _was a crockpot?_

Arthur shook his head; all he could think about was how white he got when part of the gravy of the Sunday roast landed on his clothes. As a seven-year-old, that would mean an hour-long temper tantrum until he was practically red in the face.

"I'm sorry, Mr Minister," Arthur said, and he truly meant it. "It's just… _you don't understand,"_ he pathetically argued.

"In light of the events…" Fudge began, standing up from his seat and puffing up his chest. "Of course, I'm sure your department will be able to survive a few days without you. You don't seem in a state to work and need time to mourn."

"I don't want a few days to-to mourn," Arthur said, his lip trembling. Mourn? Arthur's head was pounding. Mourn what? _"I want you to take him off the Death Eater registry,"_ he finally demanded. "There's no proof that he'd been a Death Eater."

He didn't even believe that You-Know-Who might be back until the Death Eater sighting a few months ago!

"I can't do that," Fudge said. Arthur resisted the urge to challenge that. "I know that it must be a shock for you—given your son's death, but there's nothing to suggest that he isn't, is there? He was found in a very compromising position and although we will never get answers for it, it's unfair to the public to let them believe that they're in no danger. Besides… didn't Rita Skeeter give you enough reasons for why people truly believe that your son is a Death Eater?"

Skeeter's rubbish had destroyed their house! "You can't destroy his reputation on a _hunch_ , Mr Minister," Arthur's voice was stern. "He's just a child. He never hurt anyone, and he doesn't deserve this-this public outcry. There are people that did real crimes that are being protected by you," his hands were shaking from pure rage.

He couldn't believe that he was talking to the Minister like this. He was sure if Percy was alive and standing here, listening to this, he'd bet that that'd be mortified that Fudge would just throw him in Azkaban!

"I will not reply to that, Arthur. I know that you're in a difficult situation," Fudge must be chuffed with himself for being so considerate. "You know better. I do not protect anyone. And if you don't have anything else to say, I would prefer if you'd leave now because I really do have other things to do besides being your grief counsellor."

"Of course, Mr Minister," Arthur said, realising that he might as well be talking to a brick wall. "Thank you. I apologise for… my behaviour," he said through gritted teeth, as he turned around to walk out the door.

Instead of giving him any answers, the Minister tried to soothe him the same way he soothed a five-year-old having a temper tantrum because you wouldn't give them custard creams for breakfast. Contrary to popular belief… just because he had a lot of children did not mean that he could replace them. Most people didn't replace their own crup when they passed away, so how dare he act like Percy's life was so… so expendable?

Arthur took a deep breath. Godric… he couldn't have died. If Percy died in an alley, then he would never forgive himself.

He stopped at the door and realised something. "Did he take all his things?" Arthur suddenly blurted out. "When he came to…clean up his office to move up here, did he clear up all his belongings?"

Fudge said that he wasn't sure and that he should go to the Department of International Magical Cooperation to ask them.

Arthur didn't know how to feel when a thin, blonde woman at Percy's old desk bought out a box. She looked relieved. He saw the papers on the desk, and she enthusiastically talked to him about how she'd read the research that Percy had on cauldron bottoms and how good it was. She fiddled with her ponytail more than he blinked. She said that she didn't believe The Daily Prophet, and that she was happy to hear when he'd been promoted. Arthur's throat felt dry. He wished that he could've let Percy meet her. He suspected that his gloating would be a dream for her.

"Thank you," he said, taking the box that she had labelled. "I'll see you around," and then he walked out.

As he left the Ministry that day, all he could think about was what Fudge just told him. The nerve of him! Arthur knew it was nothing personal. Fudge's position was dangling by a thin second-hand thread. As if he'd risk his position to tell the public about some redheaded nobody's innocence. The rumours would spread like wildfire.

He didn't trust Fudge, but he also knew that it had been a long time since anyone had seen Percy.

To him, it was as clear as the scars that disfigured Remus' faces. He knew deep down that he'd been clutching at broken quills for the past few months. He'd only ever had a shard of vestige of hope that kept fleeting by the day. But he _still_ couldn't have died like _that_ , could he? Percy was so sick that he couldn't even imagine how he must've felt, dying in one of the filthiest places he could think of. Arthur couldn't even begin to imagine what his last thoughts must've been!

It _couldn't_ have happened, right? Even without a wand, he would've disapparated. He would've run off. He would've saved himself. Unless he was injured, hexed, poisoned or…—but Arthur had been catching up on hospitals all over wizarding Britain… Merlin, did you know how many O. he'd had? He had an N.E.W.T in Defence Against the Dark Arts!

The other thought was worse. What if Percy didn't run away because _he wanted to die?_

The worst thing was that Arthur didn't know if this fate was a worse one than the one that was awaiting him.

If Percy was alive, he'd be found and send to Azkaban without a fair trial by the Wizengamot. They didn't owe Arthur any favours either! Why would they try to give him a just trial when there were far more political parties that would take advantage of the fact that there was a Death Eater Weasley? Horrible. In fact, Arthur was sure that You-Know-Who himself could appear in court and state that there was no way that he'd take a paper-pushing Weasley into his innermost circle and they still wouldn't believe him. In the past few months, Skitty Skeeter had destroyed Percy's reputation to the

point where Molly could barely buy eggs without people acting like she was the one that birthed You-Know-Who himself!

That night, he copped out and let Kingsley tell his own wife about the investigation. Arthur didn't know how he was going to tell his children that Percy was in that alleyway. That Percy practically got cremated in that alleyway.

A few days before he'd been called to Fudge's office, Arthur read as many articles about the London alleyway fire as he could. Even before Fudge told him about the investigation, Arthur could barely sleep. He kept imagining Percy dying there. Because it explained why a body hadn't turned up. It explained why he didn't write back to his mother (though he doubted she cared about that now). If that was true, that meant that he died _alone_. In one of _the most inhumane ways to die._ All because Arthur let him leave the sodding house. Because of the stupidest fight in the history of the world.

Trying to imagine his own flesh and blood being set on fire made him nauseous. All he could think of were the times were Percy was just a child, sitting there in his couch minding his own business. Alone. _What was he thinking about?_

Arthur felt even more nauseated when he thought of planning a funeral. The thought of having to bury his child destroyed him, but the thought that he had nothing to bury was even more devastating than he could ever imagine. His hands were shaking the more that he thought of the fact that the last things that Percy heard him say weren't even true. He'd forgotten how he sounded like already. It had only been a few months, but he couldn't even remember what he was wearing at the fight. He didn't have the leisure to forget. Percy was _not_ forgettable. So, how bloody dare he forget? In _four months…?_

He refused to even face his family after the news was out. He didn't want to talk about it.

Arthur didn't know how he was supposed to deal with this. All he wanted to do was retreat into his shell. He didn't want to think about what each one of his children must be going through. He didn't want to think about what Molly thought. He didn't want to think about how cheated he felt. Percy's wand was sat on Arthur and Molly's room, mocking him. He should owl Ollivander and let him know that Percy could be the first person he personally knew with a pine wand to die _so bloody young!_

As Arthur stood in the kitchen, he could hear Kingsley tell his family about what Arthur already knew. The sickly-sweet smell from Molly's homemade treacle tart was giving him a headache. He could practically _hear_ his family giving up.

He had the scare of his life when the kitchen door was slammed shut. His heart rammed straight through his ribcage and was probably lost somewhere between the Persian carpeting and Sirius' leather pants. Arthur was even more surprised to see that standing there, holding more suitcases that Molly did on holiday to Egypt—Clarence Francis Prewett.

He was six-foot-two and had the body of a snake on a steady diet of air and Primpernelle potions. He usually donned on a pair of gloves, hiding an incident with dragon-fire in the late 1980s. He used to work as a Magizoologist and almost reminded him a little bit of Percy… well, if instead of Percy giving an overconfident reply, he had a mental breakdown. But when Arthur voiced out to Percy that he had similarities to Clarence, he had not spoken to him all that summer. It was strange, since they spent so much time together when Percy was young! Perhaps, they had a row, didn't they?

 _Seems like there's a lot of that going around,_ Arthur reminded himself bitterly.

"I'm… I'm sorry for your loss, Artie," Clarence told Arthur, his voice softer than a pot of chocolate pudding. "I…I can't believe it! Mol's never acted like this before. It's…it's _horrible."_ Arthur didn't want to think this, but he was sure that Molly was only close to Percy because of the fact that he reminded her so much of her favourite brother. "I-I didn't expect _this_."

"Nobody expected it," Arthur said, his heart clenching in his chest. "Even though his body didn't turn up for months."

"Merlin, he-he… he was just a kid!" when Clarence said that, Arthur felt even more ill. He really was just a kid. Percy didn't even know who he was He spent his whole life in Hogwarts, earning top marks for a death like _this_. It was enough to make you give up. "Last time I saw him, he was just f-f-fif…fifteen! I didn't even get to talk to him after the twins.. um…"

Clarence looked like an anaemic ghost, looking at the tart on the table. "Did… did they find his- _his body?"_ he asked.

Arthur shook his head. "It was a fire," he said stiffly, and Clarence looked disgusted.

"Oh Godric," he went whiter. "That's horrible! You can't even bury him! What… what could you even _do_ for his funeral?"

Arthur opened his mouth to answer, but he didn't know how to answer. He didn't know how he was going to bury his son. For all intent and purposes, Percy had received his own _cremation_ in muggle London. And here Arthur was, feeling like he'd just splinched his body apparating here. What was he going to do?

"I don't know," he answered. "But maybe not having a body is for-for the best. Percy would've hated being in the dirt."

Then Arthur laughed, like it was hilarious. He wanted to cry but the tears wouldn't fall. "Merlin, he was _obsessed_ ," he said.

"You can't… you can't blame him, Arthur. He was… uh, _sick_ ," Clarence's eyes bulged. "Everyone c-c-c…could see that."

Suddenly, Arthur felt extremely lightheaded. When was the last time he ate or drank anything? Did you know that he had barely been able to cope with how wrecked Molly was after Fabian and Gideon died? What about her own son? That undercooked aubergine that nearly killed her during the labour process.

How did that stubborn little thing _survive_ only to die in a fire? Why did he die? Why not the ones that deserved it?

"Do you know I've discovered more things about him now that he's dead than I ever knew about him when he was alive?" Arthur felt cheated. "Do you know how many times I used to wonder how many days and months and _years_ Percy must've wasted just washing himself up? But we watched him do it. We were _just_ as bad."

"You're too…uh… hard on yourself," Clarence tried to calm him. "I d-d-doubt there was very much left of Percy by then."

Arthur scoffed. "His girlfriend told me the same thing," his eyes were glossy as he remembered seeing Penelope in the Ministry just as he was leaving. She was there to testify in open court about a case and didn't seem very perturbed by it. They ate lunch together. She cut her toasties the same way Percy did. "She said that the Percy I knew was so deep in his own illness she didn't think that he was much of Percy anymore. Shockingly, it didn't make me feel any better."

Arthur just sighed in exasperation. "I wish he would've said something," he said. "He never said anything."

He knew that Percy had played his part in how dysfunctional all this had become. How was he supposed to know how much this was killing him? Why didn't Bill tell him about Percy's self-harm? Why didn't Penelope tell him? And why in Godric's name did Percy not think to talk to anyone about this and would rather distort his mum's knife? He remembered Penelope thinking that there could've been something in his childhood. He hoped she was wrong. Because he could talk about miscommunication all he wanted, but he couldn't blame six or seven or ten-year-old Percy for what he did.

He felt his chest tighten even more when he saw Bill, Charlie, Fred and George walk into the kitchen. They'd obviously come here for the treacle tart. From the look on their face, they'd just digested the news. Bill was as stern-faced as ever and angrily eating crumbs off his mum's tart. Arthur was a little taken away by how Fred and George looked like. The twins rarely looked miserable. _What did you expect?_ Arthur told himself. _That they'd be jumping off the walls, celebrating the fact that their brother just died?_ Their red hair looked limp and dry, falling into their confused dark-brown eyes. They looked at Clarence with a blank facial expression, like they were trying to make sense of something.

"It-it wasn't your fault he never… uh… said anything to you, Arthur," Clarence continued their conversation. He gravitated to the tart now that Bill had started cutting it. "Percy didn't talk to anyone about anything. I just don't really think he's ever felt… um… close to anyone in his life. His personality is so different from-from-from the rest of you th—"

None of that made Arthur feel any better. "His personality is _different_ , so _that_ excuses it!" he huffed.

Bill flinched, and Charlie's cheeks reddened. Before they could say anything, Arthur felt extremely lightheaded because his wife decided to walk into the room. Molly looked like a cauldron just exploded into her face. Not that he'd notice, but her hair was so dishevelled that it was defying all forms of gravity. It also seemed to have the texture of overcooked rice pudding. Suddenly, there were too many people here and Arthur felt slightly claustrophobic.

Clarence grabbed the knife from Bill and cut a perfect slice of tart. "Um… alright. Okay. Um… let's say in a perfect world that you-you… try to approach him about it," he managed to magically put the tart slice into the plate and then took a deep breath. His face looked blue. He was so overtly anxious that Arthur didn't know why he never saw a healer about it. "Do you r-r-really think that Percy would've talked to you about… about it? Even if you really tried?"

Arthur's first instinct was _no_. But he wanted to believe that he would. "Well, that still doesn't…"

He could understand why Molly loved having him around when her life felt a little dreary. He made a lot of excellent points, but it didn't take away the guilt that he felt. He watched Clarence heat up the tart with his wand and then decorated it with a perfect scoop of vanilla ice-cream.

"Here-here you go, Mols," Clarence gave her the plate and then flashed one of the goofiest grins that Arthur ever saw. He wondered how Clarence even managed to survive his day-to-day life. He'd practically disintegrated into liquid the second that anything went wrong. When Scabbers ran across the table last Christmas, Clarence shrieked like a first year in their first Potions' class. Which made Arthur wonder how did obsessive-compulsive Percy keep a _rat_ as a pet anyway?

Molly accepted the plate graciously, as if she wasn't the one that made it. "Thank you."

Fred and George were staring at Clarence with a look that he'd seen in Ron when he was contemplating a chess move. It was so serious that it was unnerving. Bill and Charlie seemed to be shuddering about it.

"Why-why are you looking at me _like that?"_ Clarence said, looking more than just a little paranoid. His eyes were so large that he looked like he was about to give a house-elf a run for its money… well, not that house-elves had that much. He picked up a mirror from his bag and then looked at his face, as if he was trying to see if his freckles turned purple. His hands were shaking. Not being able to see himself well made him even more distressed. "Is there-there something on me?"

"No, it's just we remembered your wedding and—" Fred was cut off, not by George but by Molly.

"The one where you've destroyed Percy's expensive dress robes?" Molly acerbically asked. Arthur remembered how Percy looked like coming back. His dark blue dress robes were mangled to the point where you'd think a manticore attacked it. But he still didn't seem too upset by the fact that the twins managed to burn through Arthur's life savings. Wonderful. "Of all the boneheaded things that you've ever done—"

"Mum, um…" George's face was dead serious. "We probably should've said something but—"

"—Percy _paid_ _us_ to ruin his dress robes," Fred explained. Charlie almost choked on the tart that he'd been scoffing—when did he get a slice? Arthur didn't even notice. But the smell of golden syrup and shortbread pastry was still nauseating. Arthur made a mental note to save some for Harry later, because it seemed to go down well.

"He _bribed_ us," George corrected his twin. "He told us not to tell anyone that we did, _and_ we needed the money for our joke shop, so we never really thought much about it then but now…"

"It really makes you think," Fred's eyes were on Clarence's face, who looked eerily confused. Arthur didn't look interested and Fred knew that. Maybe him huffing and looking away was the hint there. "You have to admit that it's more than a little weird that Percy would ask us to prank him _on purpose_. Plus, he paid us to do it!"

Molly looked a little confused now too. Obviously, the twins wouldn't be lying about something like that… just a few minutes after they received the news that Percy was… _not alive anymore_ , Arthur thought sordidly.

"I…I don't know," Molly said softly to Clarence, who just nodded his head.

"That-that might be… my fault," Clarence said, not meeting anyone's eyes. "We don't see-see eye to eye on… things. He is... _was_... unnerved by-by my existence. He cannot tolerate how… nervous I am. As a person!" he flushed, his cheeks red.

"I'm sure that's not true," Molly said to Clarence, her voice was soft. "He wasn't himself most of the time."

"How do _you_ know, mum?" Bill snapped and Fred and George flinched at how cold his tone was. Charlie looked like he was choking on the piece of tart shell that he'd swallowed too quickly. "This is so stupid. Nobody actually knew him," he grabbed a fistful of his hair.

"He h-h- _hated_ me but I…I miss him too," Clarence told Bill and gave him a stern look. "It's…it's alright."

Oh Godric, Arthur remembered now. They used to be really close when Percy was just a little kid. Clarence used to love having him around in his house, especially when Percy was around five or six. They let him spend a great deal with Clarence when he was growing up. Arthur was sure that the war had an effect on him. If he had to think about where Percy's obsessive-compulsive disorder came from, it had to be around the time that the war was at its peak. But when he came back from Clarence's, he seemed to like being around the Burrow more. He clung onto his mother in a way that was almost unnatural after, and he seemed to be less moody when the twins pranked him. But it was like something changed overnight, especially after he went to Hogwarts. He went from being soft-spoken to such a critical, cynical character that Arthur didn't know how to deal with him. Percy butchered Clarence at Christmas parties, to the point where Arthur was sure that man had burst into tears. He treated Clarence like he was subhuman. Once Percy was about to cross a street in muggle London and Clarence grabbed his arm and pushed him away from a speeding car and Percy chewed him out for touching him.

It was interesting to see Molly try to balance her feelings for her favourite son against her feelings for her favourite brother.

She couldn't yell at Percy as hard as she tried. He was so miserable all the time, and obsessive. Molly spent most of the time trying to console Clarence, reminding him that Percy was ill. As if his obsession with cleaning had anything to do with the fact that if he could, he'd probably claw Clarence's eyes out with a set of sterilised scalpels.

Right now, Clarence cheeks were hot and red, and he was trying to busy himself by cutting the treacle tart into very specifically made segments. Arthur sometimes wondered if Clarence had some variant of obsessive-compulsive disorder. He knew that the type that Percy had was very common, but it wasn't the only type. He wished he'd read more about it. But it… it just seemed so harmless at the time! It was so much easier to let him indulge in his disorder than to confront him about why he felt the need to wake up at two in the morning to wash dishes that were already clean.

When Arthur walked out of the kitchen, he went up to his room to look through the box. Bill trailed after him, his eyes on the ground. The whole house felt so quiet, and Arthur felt like time had somehow stood still.

"What's that?" Bill asked when Arthur pulled the box to himself.

"I went to the Department of International Magical Cooperation to get Percy's things," Arthur explained.

It was a kind of run-down box. It couldn't possibly have been stuffed by Percy because he would never put anything in a box that looked like this. Just looking at the inside confirmed that the new blonde at his desk had probably just stuffed whatever she found in the office that was taking up space. To most people, it looked pretty tidy. To Percy, it looked like it might as well have been wrecked by the Knight Bus. He almost laughed thinking of how white Percy would look like if he was alive, if he was giving him that box right now… if they didn't have such a stupid row. Arthur opened the box, and then felt his heart sink into his chest. They were filled with multicoloured papers that had been folded into neat little squares, and five book references about cauldron thickness. There was nothing here that was even slightly personal.

"Books and scrap paper! Of course!" Bill looked like hoping for something personal too.

Scrap paper? Arthur looked at the neatly folded triangles. He was sure the only reason that blond didn't throw it out was because Percy would have a coronary before turning scrap paper into paper balls. He knew that Percy probably was solely responsible for the environmental crisis. He would toss a piece of paper solely because he didn't like how he'd scribbled down his _y_. Arthur grabbed one of the scrap papers and opened them up, expecting to see Percy writing long lengthy notes about cauldron bottoms. "What is it?" Bill asked, looking already a little frustrated.

Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat. The first part was the first part of his report. He could see that Percy misspelled the last word and probably chucked it out. That meant that the rest of the parchment should be empty, but it was filled.

 _I don't recall the last time I've slept…. Which in itself is not too uncommon for me. Wonderful. How is it that nobody seemed to notice that I'm sleep-deprived to the point where I'm acting like I'm intoxicated is beyond my twelve O.W.L knowledge. This is… so stupid. I know I'm particularly careless about my own… state of affairs, but this is just pushing the proverbial envelope. I'm sure this might have something to do with the fact that I have the personality of watery porridge served in a hospital at six in the morning. It drives me mad sometimes, but what am I supposed to do? Try as I might, I can't change my personality. As bland and boring as it is, it's what I am. I can't be spontaneous and interesting. Merlin, I can't even stop myself from washing my hands sixteen times over the span of an hour. Every time I suppress the compulsion, I want to tear my hair out at its best. At it worst, I'm climbing up the walls, wishing I was dead._

 _How am I supposed to be exciting? And why do I have to try so hard to attempt to alter my personality for everyone else's needs?_

 _The only thing in my life that gives me any purpose is the work that I do. And I cannot even do that without having a meltdown of epic proportions. If I had to chuck more than four papers in a row because the lines on the parchment paper weren't even, I feel like I'm about to double-over from a heart attack. It's exhausting! I can finish all my work in an hour, but I spend the whole bloody day sharpening my quill, lining my paper, washing my hands, cleaning my desk, and changing my Ministry robes (I always pack more than one. I am not wearing the same robes for a whole day. That is disgusting). My paycheck that's supposed to help my family is used to buy cleaning supplies that I do not need, by quantities that even the dragon reserves would not consider using. The level of concentration and energy I put into things that nobody even cares about depresses me. And what use is my efforts when my own boss doesn't even know my name? When I am so shockingly lonely? When everyone thinks I am such a joke? I might as well be invisible—or dead. I doubt anyone would care. I have no purpose in life. My cauldron bottom report is a joke. Nobody cares about cauldron bottoms. It's laughable what I spend hours writing about. And the pathetic thing is that I do have an interest in it too! But what I believe in means nothing._

 _I have trouble eating anything. Every time I eat something, all I think about is getting food poisoning. I am probably deathlier afraid of undercooked chicken than I am of You-Know-Who coming back. In fact, I'm not at all afraid of anything related to the war except the… mess. My fears are completely mounted on being filthy. I bet Neville Longbottom thinks I'm so logical, with what happened to his poor parents. Even though I'm so frustrated with mine, I still have them. That's more than a lot of people can say. I'm ridiculously ungrateful I'm aware… but it doesn't change how I feel. It doesn't change that I am paralysingly afraid of things that don't seem to matter to anyone else. Things that I know are ridiculous. My whole family has gone through a war. My father has probably seen things that change a person. What would I say? That I have a problem? Everyone knows I have a problem. But they can't understand how debilitating it is. They think that I want to do this. Nobody wants to do this. I'm completely Sleeping Draught dependent, but I still wake up in the middle of the night for Godric's sake, thinking about… that. I take enough Sleeping Draught to kill a dragon, and it's because of how much tolerance I've developed. I did not fight in wars, or lose a loved one right before my eyes. I have no right to be this distressed. Who is supposed to help me in the middle of the night? Perhaps, mum? Who lost both of her brothers in the height of the worst war documented in wizarding history? Bill, who has literally seen people succumb to decade-long curses that has left them empty shells? Charlie, who has a friend that is burned to a crisp from head to toe? Ron, who's best friends with Harry Potter? The boy who also lost his parents and is forced to live in that dreary house all summer with people that hate him? This… this is ridiculous._

Arthur swore he'd seen Percy looking so tired he sounded like he was muffled and drunk on several occasions. Most of those memories were when he was still in Hogwarts. Usually, Arthur would've walked into Percy's room to borrow a quill (he always had spare), Percy would be sat on the edge of his bed, trying to squeeze the last bit of Transfiguration knowledge in his brain. He absolutely hated Transfiguration with a passion, even though it was Arthur's easiest subject in Hogwarts. Anything that involved even a millimetre of imagination left Percy in a state of confusion. Arthur tried not to imagine how Percy was like during the exams if he was like this on holiday! Now remembering this, the thought of Percy living alone was mind-numbingly horrifying. He had absolutely no regard for his most basic necessities.

Rereading that, Arthur felt at such an impasse. He felt like all Percy looked like he really needed was someone to talk to, someone to notice that he was working too hard that wasn't his mum… Godric.

Knowing that Percy was Sleeping Draught dependent immediately raised up red flags for him. He didn't know that Percy had such trouble falling asleep in the first place, much less that he'd been having such trouble that he had to drink sleeping potions just to turn off his massive brain. Why didn't he notice these things? Was Percy that great of an actor that he'd managed to convince everyone else he was perfectly fine as he got up at three in the morning, washing his hands until they were practically red and swollen? Percy said it was debilitating. It had to be—yet why didn't he consider how bad it must _feel?_ Arthur could only imagine how bad he'd feel like if Merlin himself told him to get up and wash his hands sixteen times every hour of the day and woke him up from bed to do it. It sounded like a twenty-four-hour-bloody-job!

In seconds, Bill took the paper from Arthur's hand and read it. His facial expression softened.

"Oh, Godric," Bill whispered. He rubbed his eyes, because he didn't want to cry. "Merlin, when-when… when he died, he died thinking that nobody would've cared if he…" Arthur's head was pounding at the thought.

He didn't want to think about it. It was too painful. Then he picked up another piece of scrap paper and then felt his heart fill up in a completely different way.

 _Penny,_

 _I am in absolute crisis. Ginny absolutely loathed her birthday present. I could tell because she made the same face when she'd opened my gift that she did when she'd eaten a bowl of mum's quinoa-pomegranate salad because there was nothing else in the fridge. Perhaps, you were… correct in this occasion that Ginny might not appreciate Five Hundred Tips to Excel in Your O.W.L's, or the follow-up excellent read Five Hundred Tips to Excel in Your N.E.W.T's. I have considered your suggestion that her displeasure of my choice is not related to the fact that I did not splurge on the Five Thousand Tips series. However, now, I am at an impasse. I bought her this bottle of perfume, but I am sure that she would throw it at my face. Please take this bottle, identify the three base components and send me your analysis on the likelihood that Ginny would use this. Please respond immediately,_

 _Percy._

Arthur looked through the box and he found the most neatly tied present that he'd seen in his life.

It was almost a work of art if he didn't know just how much effort and concentration that Percy put into just tying the bloody thing. Percy always removed wrapping so carefully that he could package gifts with old wrapping paper. This one reminded him of Bill's gift to Percy last year, which might as well be a lump of coal. Fred and George always joked that they should just give him soap and dishwasher fluid. Arthur felt depressed thinking about those jokes now…

"I think he doesn't have to worry so much about Gin now," Bill was reading over Arthur's shoulder. "Whatever he's got her, she's going to bloody use and refill like mad."

"I suppose," Arthur was such a coward. He didn't know if he could talk to Ginny about this. "Merlin, he was _so_ …"

"I know, Dad," replied Bill with a weak voice. "I know how he was like."

Knowing Percy, Arthur would wager that whatever he got her was probably something much too feminine for her. Arthur knew because last year, he'd bought her a giant pink dress with bows that looked more suited to Primpernelle's infant. He was sure it was obviously because Penelope would've probably worn it… after she'd cut off most of the material. That woman dressed like she was living in a dragon reserve! Next to a fireplace!

"He even wrote her something," Bill said, bringing Arthur back to reality.

Even though he wanted to so badly, Arthur refrained himself from opening the little card Percy attached to Ginny's gift. He knew that he'd probably written about how she should try to be a proper lady now and put down her Quidditch shorts. It was so sad really. Arthur was sure that Ginny would've hated this gift any other time. But… given the fact that Percy just _died_ , it was so hard not to savour what he'd written. What he said. What he believed. Arthur was sure that even Ron was stuffing old letters that Percy sent to him, and rereading him, even though he'd rather burn them. You never really think that you'd lose that person when you threw away their owls, their clothes, their socks, their papers, their books…

Right now, Arthur wished he hadn't chucked out Percy's favourite threadbare jumper from when he was six. Or his old pair of glasses that used to make his eyes hurt. Just knowing that there wasn't going to be another one of Percy's things again was hard to cope with.

Then last few pieces of scrap paper were even better.

There were pieces of scrap paper he'd discarded after he'd botched up the dates from what it looked like… because Percy added a clumsy seven for his one. For him, this was enough to discard a nearly finished piece of work.

 _Dear Fred and George, I am proud of_

He'd crossed that out.

 _Dear mum, I love that_

He'd crossed that out too.

The last one was the one he sent, and Arthur knew that because it was the one that Percy sent him. _Dear father, I would not be home for dinner until late tonight. You do not have to stay up for me because your yawning at the coffee room at seven in the morning is embarrassing me. Please save me stuffing_. Then he crossed out the following—and never sent it: _I appreciate your concern. Thank you_.


	21. I'm Too Tired to Know What's Happened

_the plot ever so slightly thickens..._

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Twenty-One: I'm Too Tired to Know What's Happened

* * *

Clement, Gloria and Stephen were sitting on a banana-coloured couch—well, if said banana was rotten and stale.

There was a jug of water on the table that Clement did not know if he could drink it. There was a glass in front of him and he could tell that it was practically new, so it was particularly inviting. Clement was so nervous that he had started to sweat like a ghastly pig in heat, and he excused himself three times just to go to the bathroom and wash his hands until they looked like the consistency of beaten prunes. His psychiatrist was probably writing that down—and he probably thought of another fruit-like example to be used within this paragraph that was not bananas or prunes. So far, Clement went to the lavatory three times in the last ten minutes. This was the fifth session that he'd had since he'd been officially diagnosed.

 _Dr Bareham said that Charlie was obsessive! No shit! How does that help him?!_ pondered Gloria when they left the last time.

That day had been a dream—not a wet one because that would be a nightmare. Clement didn't even want to think about the… _mess_. After they booked his MRI appointment that week, they treated him to a day out in an art exhibit.

Stephen found his drawings stacked on top of his table and thought that he was very talented for a bloke that scored such low marks in his Glasgow Coma Scale the first time the doctors saw him! Since then, Stephen bought him canvases and paint in bottles for him to use. Clement didn't know the different types there were, so he used scrap paper to experiment—paper that he then neatly folded and discarded. He stacked up his garbage like most people did books on a shelf.

He even started to paint his drawing of The Burrow last week. He'd managed to get three-quarters of the mat done in the last three days! He estimated his date of completion to be five months from now. Clement was grateful for the support he had thus far. Stephen and Gloria talked about him going off to art galleries to scope them out. This felt so foreign to him! God, how selfish was he? His mum died of _breast cancer_. What did he expect? Oh, how he used to hope that in her final days of life, she'd notice that he liked to colour in all the lines with his big, blue crayons! He really had been such a git.

But now, they made him feel uncomfortable talking about exposure therapies and long-term psychiatric stay in facilities.

"How has Charlie been like since the last visit?" Dr Bareham asked. _Dreadful. Thank you for asking_ , Clement thought.

"Horrible," answered Gloria, and for some reason, that rubbed Clement the wrong way. Even if he was doing terribly.

"I am absolutely _fine,"_ Clement gave in and poured himself a cup of water. Gloria didn't glare at him, so he was probably allowed to drink this water without looking rude. He was so parched he swigged down half the cup in a gulp. "And, sir, I would prefer it if you ask _me_ instead of asking my mother." Yes, Gloria had graduated from a crazy nurse to _his mum_.

Well, it wasn't like his mum knew anymore. She was too busy being dead, a thought that depressed Clement deeply. What was he supposed to do? _Mourn her forever?_ Clement couldn't even remember her!

"He's gotten worse, doctor!" Gloria's voice was stern. She had just-dyed strands of ash-blonde hair fall in front of her soft-coloured eyes. She was wearing all-black today. She looked small. "He scratches and picks at his skin until it's bleeding—"

"—not _all_ _the time_ ," Clement disagreed. "And I'd wager that it's better that than slicing my skin up with a knife—"

"—he can't fall asleep the whole night even when I've given him some sleeping pills. It's been such an issue that I've gotten a GP to prescribe a dose for him!" Gloria cut him off, crossing her arms over her dress that made her look as gorgeous as a dying corpse flower (an oxymoron he was sure). "But even when she upped the dose, he wakes up in the middle of the night just to wash his hands. I've-I've never seen anything like it! I'm sure the only reason he wasn't in a coma on his first visit to the ER was because he wanted to make sure the nurses washed their hands before they put in an IV line!"

"That's not true," was Clement's weak argument. "And-and… I slept just fine today!" he sunk so far into his seat.

 _"That's not even the half of it!"_ Stephen seemed to agree with his wife. Horrible. "Dr Bareham, he used to be alright with scoffing half the fridge... but now, he won't eat anything because he's deathly terrified of getting food poisoning."

Clement just shrugged. "There was an _E. coli_ outbreak," he didn't know if that was true, but there was always an _E. coli_ outbreak, a _Salmonella_ epidemic, a _Staph_ party…and Clement was still surprised he let a nurse pass a catheter through him. How did he survive getting a wound infection? God, he would be going crazy now. "I've read about that strain that shuts your kidneys down and lacerates your blood cells. It's not worth a _bloody sausage_ now, is it?" Pun intended.

"So, that's a logical reason to stop eating altogether!" Stephen looked at Clement pointedly.

Clement's cheeks were coloured red. _It is not that bad_ , he told himself as he tried to ignore how swollen his hands were.

"We want him to get help. But as you know… he's currently in school," Stephen said, as if he didn't know that from the fact that Clement had been so frazzled this morning that he dressed in his school clothes. Gloria was going to take him to buy clothes after this appointment and had already told him he was not allowed to buy anything black, white or grey. Clement had already decided that he was going to buy blue shirts that they were so dark they might as well be black. "I know that his mental health is more important than his studies, especially given…his current dilemma. But I also don't want him to be missing a lot of classes just to come here and talk about _his feelings_. Especially when it's not guaranteed that it'll help him as such. I know he will be missing some of them regularly but not all of them… at least…I hope not."

"Pardon me, sir," Clement imagined spending his school mornings setting this couch on fire. "I am not going to be sat here at seven in the morning, talking to you. In fact, and no offence to you, but I would rather drink Fairy liquid."

"I understand your hesitation, Charlie but you are very ill," the psychiatrist said the same thing last time.

Everyone agreed that he was very ill. Clement should be extremely proud that he'd managed to get himself to this stage. Honestly! What did they think he'd _feel_ when they said this? Clement felt like such a loser for being so illogically ill. Just like some women wanted to be bikini ready, Clement had decided that he wanted to be _operating theatre ready_.

"Since our last session, Charlie had his MRI done. It's in the system," he then turned to Gloria and Stephen, who nodded their heads. Clement remembered that too. He was so claustrophobic that they had to knock him out with Valium. It was the best sleep he'd had in weeks. But the doctor said that they couldn't prescribe it to him because he would become dependent. So, he just left him to sleep for two hours at a time. Lovely. "When the results came out, I've consulted with the neurologist that saw him in the ER first. He used to believe that Charlie has some sort of dissociative amnesia, which is a psychiatric problem, but we do not believe that now. When we saw his MRI, we noticed that he had some very significant brain damage. In fact, _I've_ never seen someone as competent as Charlie with the level of injury that he has."

 _I'm not too disabled for you?_ Clement thought angrily. _Pitiful_. How miraculous! He was so competent for the level of—

What surprised him was when he felt Gloria reach out to stroke his hair. It was so soothing, and he didn't expect it.

"Really? I didn't know that his brain injury was that bad to begin with. Does he need to be… in a different school? For special needs?" Gloria asked, and Clement shuddered. He knew that she meant well but the idea of having to be going to a special needs school made him want to stab his eyes out. Wonderful. He had tried very hard to try to understand what six-year-olds already knew about. Honestly. "I know he has a low IQ. _I_ didn't know that could be from that…"

"His IQ puts him on the borderline... but just barely," Bareham explained. Clement felt like he'd just been slapped. "It's not my expertise to say whether a brain injury of that character would actually lead to Charlie's memory loss. I'm sure there is some sort of psychological component to it too." Of course, there was. Clement _wanted_ to be stupid. That solved everything now!

"I did not lose all my memories on purpose," Clement sounded angry. Because he wasn't exactly going to be bouncing off the walls when his psychiatrist and his adoptive mother was talking about his scarily dwindling IQ. Wonderful.

"I know, Charlie… that's not what I meant," Bareham tried to soothe him. "Do you _want_ to change schools?"

"No," Clement had his IQ tested four times already. Every time he had it tested; he was pretty sure the results were worse. He'd been doing so well at school. But this whole week, it was as if all his knowledge of maths had disintegrated. He had difficult remembering all the dates he'd had memorised for his history class. He stared blankly at his last geometry exam and left in the middle of the class because he was on verge of a mental breakdown. But he supposed he was fine otherwise.

Stephen stiffened. "His school _does_ have special needs classes—"

"Absolutely not," Clement repeated, his voice a little sterner and his shoulders stiffer. He felt frustrated with himself that he had forgotten what Audrey had spent so much time teaching him. He could almost feel the tears well up, because he had a problem _remembering_ and _retaining the bloody information that he had!_ He started rubbing his eyes, because he felt like he was about to cry. "I am not—I cannot be that—…I refuse to believe that…"

"Well… that's fair," Bareham concluded. "Charlie, what's wrong?" he said it in so softly. Clement was so bloody weak.

Clement pushed his glasses up his nose and refused to make eye contact. "I… I'm fine." _I used to be smart. I know it._

"It's alright to talk to me, Charlie," Dr Bareham said. "That's what I'm here for. I want to know how you're feeling."

"How do you think I feel?" Charlie had his arms crossed and was flaring his nostrils. "How would _you_ feel if someone told you that everything in your life is related to the fact that you're so batty you might as well be living in a cave? I don't need Stephen and Gloria to pay for someone to tell me that I have _special needs_ ," he spat it out icily.

Charlie felt tearful. "I used to be smart," he whispered, as if it was a myth. "I wasn't always this stupid."

A part of him wanted to drop out of school, because he didn't see what the point was in going. He was _so stupid_ … and he was making a fool of himself. He should just stick to painting pretty pictures! The thought of having to do anymore homework made his head pound. Clement apparently also barely knew English. Which was horrible, since he _was_ English!

"Charlie, you are _not_ stupid," Bareham told him, but he felt particularly pathetic that his psychiatrist had to tell him that. It sounded like something you would tell a six-year-old that was complaining about their big brother being so much smarter than him. Yeah right. Clement bet if he had an older brother, he'd know what the capital of Egypt was. "If you were as stupid as you think that people view you as, then do you think we'd be asking you for your opinion? Why would we even bother?"

Clement didn't really know if he was being treated like a child. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Alright," he said.

They went back to talk about the different treatment options that he could have. Gloria would probably drag him here at three in the morning if need be. She'd probably let him skip exams just to be sat here and that made him nervous.

All Clement could think about was how depressed he was thinking about the amount of schoolwork he had to do. He was so unmotivated. He'd had let his work pile. He spent too long organising his work into neat piles that by the time that everything was ready for him to use, he was exhausted. He took a break every five minutes and he got nothing done in the day. What was the point of him existing if all he did was sat around in his room all day staring at paint dry? _Literally_.

But what bought Clement back to reality was when Gloria said the word _inpatient_. And then he'd lost it.

In fact, Gloria had said: "if this doesn't work, then we might consider letting you admit him as an impatient," Clement's eyes bulged. "But if it can wait, then we'd like to delay an admission to the Christmas holidays."

"I think that if—" Clement cut off Dr Bareham, because he did not consent to living here in this filth.

" _I_ don't want to spend time in a long-term psychiatric facility," interjected Clement.

"And why not?" Stephen challenged, looking at him with a hard expression. "Do you expect to get better by sheer will?"

Gloria then nodded her head. "Do you think I want to be shelling out thousands of pounds? I know it's not exactly a holiday for you, but you can't live like this forever. And we're not throwing you there blindly. We'll be seeing you every day." Stephen nodded his head, but Clement just felt sick. He didn't even know if they'd be allowed to see him that often.

"No," was Clement's reply. No psychiatric facility. No help. No. No. _No_. "It's not that bad. I don't-I don't—"

"It's not that bad?" Stephen looked at him like he was about to laugh. "I dare you to spend an hour without having to indulge your obsessions. And when was it the last time that you've slept the whole night, Charlie? Do you plan on existing on two hours of sleep permanently? Are you really going to be happy like _this?"_

Clement was a little thrown off by Stephen's comment, but he just shook his head. "I just… _I can't_."

"What do you mean _you can't?"_ Stephen challenged. His light blue eyes darkened.

"The-the rooms are filthy," Clement's hands shook just thinking about it. He wanted to wash his hands. "And I can't share a room with an anxiety-ridden sixteen-year-old that is sweating into _my_ space. Because they put all of the most anxious people sat next to each other—like _that'll_ help. And I can't eat whatever they're serving because it's mass-produced and disgusting. I don't even want to envision how the toilets are going to look like and dear God, I don't know if I'm _ever_ going to get any sleep because it took me three days to wash off the stench after the tour…"

He had a guided tour of the facility a few days back and he thought that he might pass out. If he was forced to stay in this facility, he would drink and eat so minimally so that he did not have to use the disgusting toilets. There was a stain on carpet fifteen on this floor. And worst of all, he had to breathe the same contaminated, stale air as… _other people_. Other people that were so depressed and suicidal that they did not shower for days. Binge eaters and bulimics that smelled of vomit. Alcoholics that… Godric, _alcoholics_. The thought of that made him want to gauge out his eyeballs.

Gloria poured down most of the jug into one of the glasses and then held his shaking hand. "Come on."

He was surprised that she'd managed to lead him outside of the room with him breaking down like that.

"Are you absolutely insane?" Clement challenged Gloria, who looked even smaller than she usually was. Her eyes were giant and so sky-blue that he could practically see right through them. "I don't know the people there. I can't trust anyone there. I-I don't trust them. _I_ don't trust anyone." His face was red and flushed. Then he slid down the wall, onto his knees.

He was so angry that he pulled up his oversized sleep and ripped apart the bandages like they were paper ribbons. He sunk his fingers straight into his gaping wound, scratching the hot blood underneath. It took him about three seconds to do that.

Dr Bareham and Stephen walked out of the room, and Stephen paled, looking at the blood seeping from his skin.

"I didn't want this," Clement made a fool of himself, blathering on like this. "I didn't want _any of it_."

"Charlie," Bareham even squatted down until he was up to Clement's level. Was this professional? He didn't know, but it did calm him down a little bit. "What's upset you? Do you want to talk about it?"

Clement shook his head, but he felt this undeniable feeling of failure. But what was he feeling at? Being sick? Being normal?

Gloria grabbed his hand and then pinned his hand to the wall so that he'd stop hurting himself. "Charlie, _breathe_ ," she told him. His face was red and flushed. She'd put down the glass and then fed him a couple of pills. Clement was sure that it was Valium. He tried to take deep breaths, his chest burning, and his cheeks were red and flustered. When he looked down at his hand, he was shocked at how much blood was spilling from his hand. He barely touched it. "You're doing great," she encouraged him.

He nodded his head. She was squeezing onto his shoulder. This felt foreign to him too, which meant he didn't always have such embarrassing meltdowns. This was relatively new, and that terrified him. He was sure that he probably used to be calm and controlled before. What happened to that part of him? That part of him that would probably be disgusted at this!

 _Would you rather be deceptively calm on the outside and slash your body to pieces when you're alone, or have a complete breakdown and deal with it in the way that normal people do_? Clement called himself out. Then he shuddered at the thought. Because if he was alone, he was sure that he would've slashed his wrists until he saw red-pink-white.

His chest burned and he felt nauseated. If he'd eaten anything remotely substantial in the last few days besides a chicken and sweetcorn pasta salad, he'd probably have vomited. Disgusting. By the time he calmed down, he was exhausted.

And what a way to convince a psychiatrist he didn't need to be institutionalised. Break apart his stitches in the hallway!

"Are you going to admit me?" Clement asked. His throat felt dry. He grabbed the cup from Gloria's hands and gulped it down in a dizzying speed. He was so hungry, but at the same time, he was so bloody nauseated. He couldn't possibly…

He froze. Because he could still throw up water, right? That made him feel even sicker, which made him panic more.

"No, don't worry about that," Stephen said. "Hey, buddy, just… you know, take a deep breath. It's okay." Dr Bareham was holding Clement's hands so softly that he didn't even notice at first, looking over at where he'd managed to rip his stitches in less time than it took some people to take a piss. It was quite appalling.

He tried not to think about going to therapy. It wasn't the talking that bothered him. It was the _exposure therapy_.

Clement had read the brochures. In those therapies, they'd purposefully dirty his hands. Then they would try to go through relaxation exercises to calm himself down without washing them, so he'd think about what was upsetting him. Although his obsessive-compulsive disorder was anxiety-driven, Clement did not feel overtly anxious anymore. Dr Bareham told him that he'd reached a stage where he had subconsciously succumbed to his compulsive needs and no longer attempted to defy them—and that he was running away from his own fears and anxiety! Clement had been so angry to hear this.

Of course, it was true, but that didn't mean that he had to just-just sit here and listen to this moron moan about it!

Back in the room, Clement averted any real questions about how he was and how he felt now. About his stitches.

Her hands were shaking as she cleaned up his wound. He barely flinched when she'd used the rubbing alcohol, when she'd stitched them up… Clement had to be the only person in the universe that liked the feeling of that against his skin.

When he met her, she looked at him like he was mental. Now she knew that she was mental, but she had _feelings_ for him. She could barely change his bandages in the morning without getting tearful. His cuts were barely healing and if they were healing, they managed to produce the most disgusting scars he'd ever seen. At times, she let him stay at home when he looked extremely depressed and refused to eat his breakfast for three days straight.

He didn't want to imagine what Audrey must think of him. And what Judy and Steel must be telling her about him. Audrey seemed to care too much about what other people said, but Clement never had the opportunity to care. He was sure that wherever he'd been before, everyone hated him. Or thought that he was too boring and tedious to hate.

 _Lucky_ was the only thing he could think of. _He's so lucky that he doesn't have to go to school._ That made him feel worse.

Sat there in the room again, Gloria was gently stroking Clement's wine-coloured curls. Her hair was short now and blonder than a block of white chocolate. It suited her sometimes. They talked about his next appointment, three days from now, and he would be going to regular appointments Monday, Tuesday and Thursday—cutting into his class time. He also had an appointment on Friday with one of the plastic surgeons because Stephen and Gloria felt like they needed to review his need for a skin graft, even though he didn't know if he wanted one yet.

Nobody was listening to him. _How do you want to get better?_ Clement asked himself, just like Stephen did. _Of course, they're not listening to you. If they listened to you, you're going to be sick forever. Is that what you want?_ Sometimes, he wanted to stay ill. Because the thought of going an hour without washing his hands was so anxiety-producing that he felt paralysed.

Clement felt queasy just thinking about it, as if he'd just eaten a dodgy-looking sausage roll.

He listened as they decided that he was going to go to therapy even if it meant skipping a lesson some days. Gloria was going to skip work sometimes just to take him to his appointments. This surprised him because Gloria made him wait three hours because she didn't want to cut into her day just for him.

The last time she'd removed his bandages was only this morning. It was five am, and he was still mostly asleep as she sat him up to change them. It was a weekend, and if Clement didn't have to go to his appointment, he would've fallen back asleep. Gloria usually scheduled his weekend morning as meditation time, but she was sorely mistaken if he was going to wake up at the crack of dawn to be one with himself. He didn't even know who he was supposed to be one with!

"Charlie? Are you listening?" Dr Bareham asked, and Clement was pulled out of his trance.

"Um…" he realised that this session was for him, but there was something about having a breakdown in the corridor that made him lose his interest in anything. "Err…I suppose the Valium makes it hard to pay attention. I'm very tired."

"Yes, the Valium," Stephen rolled his eyes. "It has nothing to do with the fact that you only sleep for two hours at a time."

 _Point taken_ , Clement groggily thought as he yawned into his arm.

"Charlie, how often do you get the urge to do what you just did?" Dr Bareham asked, and Clement just looked away.

"I'm… I'm not answering that question," Clement did get the urges sometimes. He just felt so filthy at times, as if the only way he could clean himself was from inside-out like he was one of Gloria's giant stuffy Prada bags. Well, in her defence, he was not supposed to put that into the washing machine. Especially not for sixteen times in a row.

Gloria's tone was colder than melting ice-cream. "What do you _MEAN_ you're not answering that question?"

"You're kidding," Stephen was in disbelief. "Even if you wanted to, where in God's name would you…?"

Clement just went red. He was practically bandaged from head-to-toe. He reached to cup his cheeks and Stephen looked even more disturbed to think about Clement slicing into his cheeks. Or he could do a Van Gogh and just cut off one of his ears. But as if he wanted people to think that he was so mentally retarded he couldn't think of a clever way to self-mutilate himself. "Well, you'd just have to _face up_ to the fact that I can be very creative," Clement said weakly.

Nobody laughed. He had a sense of humour that was drier than Gloria's carrot-walnut cake.

"If I see so much as a bloody bruise, you'd be locked up in here for the rest of your life," Stephen threatened. "Got it?"

Clement wasn't sure how he felt about his threat. Stephen cared. That was why he threatened him. "Y-y- yes…yes, sir."

He didn't know where else to do it because his whole body was filled with wounds. Clement felt an extraordinary amount of guilt for even thinking about it—for _needing_ to do it. Clement refused to look at Gloria, or Stephen, because he didn't want to know what they thought of him. That he was an _absolute nutter?_ How could he want to do more?

They drove home after. Yes, that pasty wallpapered house of cherry wood tables and white shower curtains was now _home_.

Whilst they were driving, Stephen looked over at Clement with a serious look on his face. "We're going to stop by the shops," he asked, and then in an icy tone said, "You _have_ to buy things to eat. You can't take all that pain medication on an empty stomach. That's what's making you feel so nauseated. If you don't believe me, read the information packet."

Clement had already read the information packet, and he knew, deep down, that Stephen was right.

The shops were terrible. Clement paled every time Gloria asked him what kind of Sunday roasts he liked, and if he didn't mind if they substituted the potato mash for cauliflower mash. She had fought with him on nutritional supplements he should be drinking. He refused to drink anymore of them. The only thing reason he hadn't completely collapsed in the last few weeks was because Gloria forced him to drink this disgusting meal replacement that could add fat to a steamed carrot. Even though he'd barely been eating, he'd not lost much weight, which he was ecstatic about. He had always seen himself as too thin even without the help of any shocking weight loss. But the last time he had a shake, he'd felt nauseated and he was terrified that he was going to vomit. He felt the peach-flavoured shake coming up into his mouth and had absolutely refused to eat anything for the last two days. But apparently, if you did not eat for two days, you were very weak.

He couldn't eat dairy, even though he seemed to have it so often. He might as well be a bloody calf with how much germ-infested glue he was sniffing. And as if he'd eat a roast dinner, which required cooking… Clement was disgusted at the thought o f having to eat something that might have the slight indication of being undercooked. Or maybe it was probably cooked but all the bacteria in the air was clinging onto it. And do not let him get started on _eggs_ —

"Charlie?" Audrey's voice made him jump up, as she stood there staring at him with frosty green eyes. He thought of snow-covered trees when he saw her eyes. They were beautiful. "Are you alright? Is there something on my face?"

"No," he flushed almost automatically. All he could think about was how nice she looked in those striped pants.

Audrey had a basket that was full of baking items: chocolates, flour, milk, sugar, hundreds and thousands, double-cream, strawberry jam, full-fat custard and eggs. Clement had tried some of her baking before. It was excellent. But she didn't even _enjoy_ baking. In fact, everything that Audrey seemed to be good at, she seemed to hate with a passion. She told him that she was going to bake him something special last week, and it looked like she meant it too. "Did you… think about it?"

She'd called him last night on the house fellytone asking him the same question she'd been asking him all week.

"You want me to consider my _career choices_ in a single week?" Clement asked her, raising her eyebrow.

"I…I guess not. You make a valid point," Audrey's voice made his chest ache. "You're still going to ask the teacher for a spot in the student's gallery, aren't you? Even if you don't want to, I think you should. _I'd_ do anything for you to…"

Clement thought about this for a few moments. He thought that Audrey should do a lot of things too. He tried to decide which one he wanted more. That she'd stop bloody trying so hard by putting herself in every club under the sun? That she'd quit that team that she was in now because she dreaded every practice the way he dreaded the thought of rain?

Would she go with him to this week's dance, even though he was sure she didn't want to because she had this misconception that she could buy a frock fit for a bloody wedding? That she'd start wearing her glasses because eyes like that should be held back by a lens and amplified to the _nth_ degree?

"What are you thinking about?" Audrey looked like she knew what he was about to say.

"I will ask about that spot," Clement said, and then she stared at him, waiting for the proverbial ball to drop… and shatter into a million pieces, because if it was Clement, it had to be a glass ball. No way he was holding the normal, germ-infested ball that had passed by about a million hands in the process. At least you could see faults in _glass_.

Audrey looked at him. "If…?" she urged him continue. He smiled a _real_ smile.

"If you come with me to the school dance this week _without_ dolling yourself up. Because, dear Audrey, I know it's hard for you to believe but you are not a doll. You are _not_ meant to wear five-layers of glitter and contorting bottoms," she flushed, because Judy let everyone know that Audrey, who 'weighed more than Steel', liked to contour her body with American Spanx (? Clement didn't even know what that was until he asked Gloria). Audrey hadn't said anything about it but Clement was absolutely livid. He left the table by then.

He knew that Judy was not a malicious person. She just had no real regards for the fact that some things were private.

Like the fact that you shouldn't plaster pictures of your boyfriend's self-harm wounds… granted, they weren't together then. And Audrey did not like him that much then and only visited him from pure guilt. But wasn't it funny? That someone that was so willing to do that to you just a few months ago now didn't mind looking their worst in front of you? He knew that she practically lived in ratty old sweats that looked like they were about to decay. Clement thought it was very funny.

"Audrey," Clement said, looking at her with a serious expression. "Will you be my non-dolled-up date to the dance?"

Audrey just stared at him, smiling. Her eyes were glossy, and she looked like she was about to cry. Clement wondered what she was thinking because she looked happy. "Yes," she said.

Clement stared at her with a confused expression. He saw Gloria peer at him from a distance, and then drag Stephen off to another aisle. Knowing her, she'd probably managed to stuff food in the cart and was probably going to force him to have something even if she had to pump it through him via an IV line. Horrible.

"I'd never been asked to one of these before, you know," Audrey explained. She was suddenly shy, and soft-spoken. "And… I didn't think you'd be interested. In fact, _I_ was trying to work my way up to asking you if you'd take me!"

"I am absolutely not interested," Clement confirmed. He'd rather gauge his eye out instead of going to a school dance where he had to, God forbid, _socialise_. He had an air of cocky arrogance that was reserved for a top student, but he had worse marks than the hare-brained oaf that pushed him around from the football team, asking him how long it took him to wipe his arsehole. "But I think the clue was when you were on the committee and hanging posters. And then rattled on to every student that comes through class about how excited you were for the dance. But I'd _really_ started to become suspicious when you and Judy spent the week chattering on about dresses you were going to wear…"

Audrey was flushing and smiling. She looked so content. It surprised him that he could make someone feel like that.

"What colour do you want me to wear?" Audrey asked. "What's _your_ favourite colour? Let me guess— _white?"_

It was his least favourite colour. Clement just rolled his eyes and then sighed. "The things you _think_ you know about me," he said in a sing-song voice, only for Audrey to laugh. "Yellow is my favourite colour. But I'd rather you wear blue."

"I think blue looks good on you too," Audrey replied, and he flushed, because he realised she wanted them to _match_. "Your eyes are blue." God, maybe he'd take back that comment he had about her giving him butterflies. _Your eyes are blue,_ how original... Miss Audrey Claire Brown.

Well, he did like order and symmetry, didn't he? Then he should love matching up with her. He watched Audrey walk away, laughing to herself. Only seconds afterwards, Stephen came around him, grabbed him by his arm and said, "Come on, lover boy. It's time to go home." He then gave him a back of lemon truffles, which Clement loved. "Eat this in the car."

Clement wanted to refuse, but he'd been so hungry and at the sight of one of his favourite sweets, he couldn't stop himself from scoffing them even before they got to the till. He was sure that the woman behind the till thought that he was uncontrollable. He kept on picking up and putting down the 180g bag, stuffing in two or three chocolate-covered lemon truffles in one go because of how hungry he was. By the time that he'd gotten to the car, he'd reached over to pick up the groceries from the back. He ate a sandwich from a meal deal, and a packet of crisps that he didn't even like.

He leaned back against the car, the nausea was _so_ much better now, and he could finally let himself sleep.

At home, Stephen helped a groggy Clement into his room where he collapsed and fell asleep in about three seconds.

They didn't talk much for the rest of the weekend. Not because there wasn't loads to talk about, but Stephen and Gloria didn't actually talk as much as Clement thought they would when he met them. But when they talked, it was to lecture him.

The last time they lectured him was last night, when Stephen swore that he was going to refuse to let him lock the bathroom if he was going to take three-hour showers. _You've used up all the bloody water in England!_ Stephen told him on numerous occasions. From showering to washing everything, Clement supposed he was probably right.

He had so many appointments next week. He used the house fellytone to complain to Audrey about it but she was absolutely chuffed that he had to go to a million appointments. He did not want to do exposure therapy, and he most definitely did not want to spend Christmas Day in a room in a psychiatric facility just because he liked to be clean.

Clement wanted to get better, but he didn't want to deal with the fact that without his crutch, he didn't know what to _do_.

He smoked sometimes when he got the urge to hurt himself. Alright, he smoked _all the time_ , but he chain-smoked when he got the urge to harm himself. Gloria kept on telling him that he was going to die from lung cancer.

Oh, and if he didn't put that out _now_ , she was going to make sure that he had a coronary in the next ten minutes.

They spent the rest of the weekend day as normal. They ate dry toast. Clement listened to Stephen and Gloria talk about British politics, as they watched the telly. Clement didn't know how to use it still, and he was far too lazy to understand how to do it even though he was so bored out of his skull. Clement had not felt like finishing his painting that weekend. He kept on looking at his sketch, erasing and shading over it to the point where he was sure that the paper would cry out of it was a person. The chickens were too small. The grass was too uneven, even from memory. The shed was too straight—

It was coming together, but he to complete his sketch before he started really painting more than a grainy, fawn-coloured _Welcome_ mat and a fence, which was the only thing he had on that canvas thus far. This was going to take forever.

Gloria bought a fax machine last week, and Clement wasn't sure how it worked. His owl, Barry, was very angry at the fax machine, as if its mere existence sent him off his rocker. Sometimes, he still stole letters. Clement didn't read any of them.

Sometimes, Clement felt like Barry thought that his job was to delivery things, not the fax machine. How very peculiar!

Clement also wanted to get his own car, so that he didn't have to wait for Gloria to finish work to pick him up. He was old enough to get one, but he didn't know how to drive one. Fortunately for him, his psychiatrist didn't think that he was so disabled that he couldn't operate a stick. Stephen had got him his learner's permit already, and he was going to teach Clement how to drive. They were going to go out in the mucky forest next weekend and Clement had not even begun to pack his kit for all the dangers he might encounter! Oh, and he supposed that he was a little worried about the lesson too!

AUDREY was sat sipping tea with Gloria and Stephen, trying to digest her what she'd just said (oh, and her lunch).

She'd only met them three times. When she visited, she wore long dresses that were off-white and boring. She didn't even put any clips in her hair in case they thought that she was too shallow and self-absorbed ( _you are not shallow;_ Charlie told her a few times. _You just pretend to be Judy so much that you think you are… because she is_.) She wore her glasses like they were a shield, and she hadn't even stuffed her bra with cotton balls like usual. If anyone from school saw her sat there without three layers of makeup on her, they'd have reminded her that she should be wishing for prince to come by and snog a frog like her back into the land of the living. It shocked her immensely that Charlie didn't gag when he saw her like this.

But then Audrey had to go ahead and say something that made Stephen nearly double-over from a heart attack. Um… it was _not good_ to nearly kill your host with a heart attack. She'd turned Stephen into the suffocating blue of Charlie's eyes just by what she said.

"Audrey," the way that Gloria said her name was very soft. "Audrey, you're—… you're _kidding_."

"No," her voice was soft. She'd already said that she was rather serious five times already. Audrey had shown them the letter and they'd already read it many times now. The tea was so cold it could practically be iced. "Uh…"

"God, Audrey, not you too!" Stephen was cradling his head into his hands. "What _else_ do you believe? That Charlie is a closeted drug addict? That he's actually our long-lost son that just happens to appear by our doorstep without any explanation? Maybe you think that Charlie really is a wizard and that there's a war happening nobody knows about?"

"No," replied Audrey softly, realising how… unlikely her thoughts were. "But… you have to admit that—"

Gloria sighed deeply, rubbing her head. "You think that Charlie's parents are still alive. And that his name isn't actually Charlie because he'd been lied to—and he was involved in some sort of cult, and they were probably the masked men that started the London alleyway fire?" when Gloria said it like that, she made her sound crazy.

Audrey stared at the carpet with soft eyes. "You… you _have_ to believe me," her voice was soft. "Don't you?"

 _"Believe you?"_ Stephen reiterated, as if he didn't know what those words meant. "What kind of cult did Charlie join? The only one he's eligible for, with all his _free time_ , is a cult of germaphobes that believe that inhaling dust will give them anthrax."

"No," Audrey repeated softly. "But-but… Charlie isn't like everyone else," she was sure that there was something about him that was special and unusual. She was sure that there was an explanation for everything he did. Like how he washed his hands so often because he felt dirty inside after being defiled so young by _his fucking uncle_.

Gloria remained expressionless. "This letter doesn't prove anything, love. I'm sorry." She didn't _sound_ sorry.

"It proves _something_ ," Audrey didn't know what yet. Gloria looked like she could be swayed when Audrey said that.

Recently, Charlie's batty owl was annoying her constantly with the post he stole. At least that was what Charlie told her.

If Barry was going to steal something, why couldn't it be an Oasis album? She had given up a while ago and read the letter that Barry was trying to shove into into her face. Least that Charlie got jealous that she was having a snog with his owl, you know. Irritated, Audrey read the bird-saliva-covered letter and felt her heart race a thousand kilometers a second.

The letter was addressed to a _Percy_ (what a straitlaced name). A woman named _Molly_ , who was his mum, had talked about how she was sat there in 12 Grimmauld Place and that she'd heard about his death from the London alleyway fire (didn't Audrey think that Charlie had been there too?). She'd written it because there was a small part of her that hoped that her son hadn't turned to ash and… _ash_. As she read, Audrey thought nothing out of all of this especially when _wizards_ and a _war_ was mentioned, but then she felt her heart practically stop when she read her mentioning her son washed her hand sixteen times. Sixteen was a very specific number, and it was exactly the number of times that Charlie washed his hands!

"Sixteen times," Audrey echoed, reminding Gloria. Everyone knew that Charlie was obsessed with _sixteen_.

Stephen looked a little more swayed. "Sixteen times," he'd highlighted that part in the letter.

Gloria looked over at the letter, unconvinced, but she just seemed to crumble. _"Sixteen times?"_ she reiterated.

Audrey sat there contemplating the letter for a while. She would've chucked it out into the bin if she hadn't read that. _Sixteen times._ It was just _such_ a specific detail… and when Charlie slept, he talked. He said those words before. Death Eaters. War. Wizards. The Burrow. She thought that he was dreaming. What if there was a part of him that knew what _that_ was supposed to mean?

But was this a secret code? Did they have any kind of secret language between each other?

Charlie had such bad brain damage when he'd lost his memory! She'd thought that he'd been making so much rubbish up, but did he tell his owl to send him letters? Did he really pretend to be so peculiar for… no reason whatsoever? She believed that the Burrow house was real. And there was no way physically that house could be real, but why did she believe it? Because Charlie drew the door crooked? Maybe Charlie was just a little more unhinged than she thought. Which was a _lot_.

"No, no, no," Gloria said, trying to take a deep breath, trying not to think about what was written in that letter.

Audrey had practically memorised the letter by then. "He told you before that he thinks that his mother's name was Molly—"

" _I'm_ his mother," Gloria said, sounding hurt and Audrey felt her heart ache for her. She'd obviously known that she didn't like Clement very much, but neither did Audrey, and now, she couldn't think of anything she wouldn't do for him.

Stephen placed a hand on Gloria's shoulder. "It's alright," this was sweeter than the cake that Audrey baked a week ago. "There there is probably some truth in this letter. If there's a chance that… maybe, we can find some answers about—"

"Oh, so you think there's a war now too?" Gloria said dryly, looking at Stephen like he was crazy. "And that magic is real? Do you know what is the actual possibility if his mother is alive? And ifs he is alive, she's probably _CRAZY_ just like him?!"

Stephen flinched, and Audrey was surprised. Gloria was right, of course.

"Did you ever consider that _OBVIOUS_ and _REAL_ possibility, Stephen?" Gloria went on. "If I had to guess how Charlie got his head injury in the first place is that I think that he's just thrown himself off the top of a building, because he's so bloody self-destructive that… that…God, he's just so damn ill. If his mother let him get that way, _she_ doesn't deserve him."

"That's not fair," Audrey said softly. This room was just full of people that loved Charlie, that didn't used to before.

"It's alright," Stephen said softly. "He can have _two_ mothers, alright?" he promised her. Audrey felt a little uncomfortable. Clement drowsily walked into the room, yawning, his hands red as he went into the kitchen for a glass of water.

"He doesn't _need_ two mothers," Gloria said softly, watching him walk out of the kitchen, oblivious to the conversation they were having. He looked bloody exhausted that it was shocking that he didn't collapse just walking back to his room to sleep. "He needs… he needs…" she looked back at Audrey, who stared at her with soft eyes.

Barry, the owl, had flown into the room, jamming empty papers into Audrey's face.

"I think…I think that Barry sends letters," Audrey decided. He was waiting impatiently, watching her. Stephen cleared his throat, but he looked like a part of him really believed what she said. "I'll write it, and if he sends it, then… well, we'll get a letter back, wouldn't we? Because I think that's what he does. And if _that's_ not real—which it probably isn't, then… then we wouldn't have _really_ wasted our time, right? It doesn't take that long to write a letter."

Gloria didn't look like she could argue with that logic. "Fine," she said stiffly. "Are _you_ going to write it, or should I?"

Audrey looked over at Gloria with a soft expression. "I'll write it," she replied softly. Barry hooted.


	22. A Wedding and Owl Letters!

_hopefully, the next chapter, everyone's going to meet each other... should be interesting._

 _**clairebxrton** : no, it totally does not sound weird that you want to frame it. i'm very honoured. i think they definitely didn't seem to care as much about Percy / Charlie before because they didn't know him and now that they're getting close to him, it's just a matter of suddenly their perspective shifting. i really like it because this fanfiction is more or less mostly about character development rather than actual things happening from limbo state just-post-Oblivation Percy down to what he is now versus what he was before and others remembering him. i love love reading that review. i love the detailed parts, because i feel like sometimes i put a lot of small details that some people don't particularly notice so this was super sweet! i hope you enjoy the rest of this story. _

_**Son of Whitebeard:** oh, yes! _

_**Phoenixx Rising:** they're definitely leading somewhere! i hope the next few chapters do not disappoint. they were horrible to write._

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Twenty-Two: A Wedding and Owl Letters!

* * *

Molly was forcing herself to smear chocolate-hazelnut spread on her toast. Her freckled hands were trembling. She'd lost so much weight in the past few months that none of her clothes fit. Tonks let her borrow an oversized dress of hers that had about every colour under the sun. She looked like she was about to go march in Bath's annual wizarding gay parade!

Fred tried to stifle his laughter when he came downstairs that morning. _Who's a pretty birdie,_ he said to George, his face flushing with excitement. _Oi, Georgie… we have something to model our Canary Creams on now!_

 _CANARY CREAMS? Do all you two care about is your joke products?!_ Molly shrieked. _YOUR BROTHER IS DEAD!_ Then Fred's face crumbled immediately. The look of devastation on the twins' faces made her feel an immense remorse.

They walked upstairs and then slammed the door shut. Grimmauld Place was eerily quiet for the rest of the morning.

When she went upstairs with a plate of Remus' chocolate croissants for them, they refused to open the door for ten minutes. Then George opened the door, scowling at her. "What do you want, mum?" he said, sounding broken-hearted. "I promise we're not having any fun. We're absolutely miserable… _thanks!"_ then he slammed the door in her face.

Why did she say that? The twins had barely been out of their room since they heard the news to begin with. Why did she feel the need to guilt them because they didn't stamp their misery on their forehead twenty-four-seven?

"It's alright, Mollywobbles," Arthur came from behind her, squeezing her shoulders. He knocked on the door. " _BOYS!"_ he said. "Do you want to come with Charlie, Bill and I to the Burrow?" hearing him say that was like a stab to Molly's heart.

She'd been trying to clean his room before they left from Grimmauld Place but stopped cleaning it when she found Percy's knife (he cut himself purposefully. _Often_ ). His room probably still looked like Death Eaters had rifled through his things.

Arthur told her yesterday that he was going to go get his belongings. They were going to pick a few things _for the funeral_. It made her feel sick knowing they didn't have a body to bury. Arthur said they could bury a box of his _things_.

"We're going to go if you're not coming out _NOW!"_ Bill hollered from behind, not bothering to tie his long hair back.

Whizzing past her were Fred and George, who had changed from their pajamas into oversized t-shirts and off-white sweatpants. Fred was carrying empty boxes of Skiving Snackboxes to stuff Percy's things in, and George was holding a stack of papers that Molly couldn't really identify. They left their hair a mess, but their worst hair day could not even compare with Percy's best. Molly smiled weakly, remembering summer of 1993 where Percy had a brush stuck into his hair just moments before he was due to graduate. His immaculate pressed robes were full of copper-red curls. Merlin.

"If we find his badge, _we're_ keeping it," said Fred and George in unison, as if they'd already agreed it amongst themselves.

"You're not keeping _both_ of them," Charlie said. "Come on," Bill nodded off to the fireplace. They followed him.

When Arthur walked over to kiss her, he looked awful. He was so pale that he almost made the Hogwarts' ghosts look lively and animated. He hadn't been talking to anyone about _anything_. He looked so guilty most of the time. She caught him sat there drinking a little firewhiskey with Bill and Charlie one night, and she almost felt _relieved_. She looked like she was scoffing Hogwarts' feasts compared to what Arthur was getting by on.

"I don't think we'd be doing much burying," Arthur said lightly, laughing but it sounded emptying.

Molly nodded her head, feeling hot tears fill her eyes. How could they bury his things? They were all they had of him! And as if there was much left after you take out the two hundred Galleons' worth of cleaning products that Percy had managed to accumulate over the years. His charmed soaps were probably still trying to scrub his multicolored carpet white!

Right now, she was sat in front of the hazelnut spread tub, and the toast. As she licked spread off the spoon, she couldn't get over how sickly sweet it was. How did Charlie and Percy eat _this_ _rubbish_ out of the jar?

Molly put the spoon down, staring at the piece of toast that she'd had on her plate. She'd been staring at it as if it was inedible for the last five minutes. Hit with a spell of dizziness and starvation-related nausea, she made herself a cup of hot tea and sat down to slowly make her way through the toast. At this point, she was almost sure that she'd have had an easier time making her way through three years of Potions' assignments. All she thought about was—

"Mols?" Clarence walked into the kitchen, looking particularly thin and pale. That cow Lucy must've forgotten to feed him what with all the time she had frolicking about Diagon Alley for dress robes. "I-I…was… was looking for you!"

Her heart softened when she heard him stuttering, his face drawn out with a child-like innocence that she couldn't get over.

"Clancy," Molly acknowledged with a nod of her head. "I'm just having breakfast. Would you care to join me?"

"I'd-I'd be honoured," replied Clarence. She felt like crying as Clarence grabbed the jar of spread, and then he cleaned his spoon, formed a perfect circle with the spoon. He put that down in the sink, and grabbed another spoon, which he meticulously cleaned. He spooned directly in the middle, not touching the sides. Percy thought the sides were _filthy_ too.

"I'm-I'm sorry, Mols," Clarence said. He'd made a tiny… burrow into the spreads jar. "Did-did you want more?"

"No," Molly shook her head. "You know me," she said weakly. "The sides are filthy?" she asked, her voice vacant.

Clarence looked impressed that she found that out by herself. "Y-yes," he stuttered. "Lucy… doesn't-doesn't believe me."

In Hogwarts, Clarence was sorted into Gryffindor even before the Sorting Hat was fully on his ruby-red hair. Fabian and Gideon always made fun of the fact: a Gryffindor he may be but he would cower at the first sign of danger!

 _They'd take anyone these days_ , Fabian told Molly at the ceremony. _Clarence Cyril Prewett! Brave for not having have killed himself when he was washing the dishes last night and discovered that he'd forgotten to clean one last week!_

 _I met braver rocks,_ agreed Gideon. Molly stayed quiet for the rest of the ceremony, and most of her time growing up.

Every time they were in Transfiguration, Clarence's nerves had landed him into a bubbling cauldron of trouble. There were many times where he accidentally transfigured match boxes into Cornish pixies—leading to the Great Cornish pixie infestation of 1962. His greatest achievements in Hogwarts included being on a Seeker on the Quidditch team for all of ten minutes before he'd got rushed off to St Mungo's for three months for a _severe head injury_.

But even though he had probably been almost eaten by every magical creature to exist and had repeatedly failed _Care of Magical Creatures_ , he went on to be a world-renowned Magizoologist. And that was one of the bravest things that Molly could think of. Sometimes, she wished that Fabian and Gideon lived long enough to know. He sacrificed a lot in the means of his volumes of books on scaling dragons properly, especially when he lost most of his fingers in a 1980s fire and had them replaced with magical wood-carved fingers made from oak; the same as his wand!

His life had been dreary growing up. Once a sixteen-year-old Molly Prewett had left the house for a summer date in Fortescue's with Arthur and felt a pang of guilt when she heard his painful sorrowful sobs echoing from the bedroom. Their parents hated everything that Clarence was. He was practically called _pathetic_ and _worthless_ every day of his life.

She wished that she could go back sometimes. She wished that she'd asked him what was wrong…

And when she realised that she wasn't thinking of Clarence at all, she felt even guiltier. Percy had been the same, hadn't he? It shocked her how much Percy hated Clarence, because she felt like they were the same person at times. But Clarence lived in a house where everyone hated him. And she'd never thought Percy was less than he was a day in his life!

She remembered what the twins said about Percy purposefully asking them to sabotage his expensive dress robes for the wedding. Molly had practically chewed their ears off for it! But Percy hadn't even told her that he hadn't wanted to go. Did he believe that she wouldn't let him stay in the Burrow because of her close she was with Clarence?

It was a hot summer day when Clarence Cyril Prewett and Lucy Antoinette Dencen got married. The ceremony was done in an expensive ballroom that was every shade of white imaginable. There were eggshell-tinted napkins on small antique plates that were more beautiful than most Hogwarts portraits. Each white-washed tea tray carried small cream-coloured vanilla-iced cupcakes, glittery petit fours and just-seared scallops. Each tablecloth was adorned with silvery swirls of various magical creatures, ranging from fluttering Flitterbies at the children's tables to artistic and delicate representations of beasts such as manticores, goblins, hippogriffs and dragons. There were huge candles that smelled of blushing gardenias.

As Molly admired the beauty of the hall, eleven-year-old Ron tugged at her sleeve. "Mum," he said, jabbing a finger behind him—even though she told him not to do that. It was _rude!_ "Percy's gone mental again."

"He's going to get us thrown out," agreed little Ginny, even though she didn't even like the idea of a wedding.

Molly looked behind her to see that wide-eyed fifteen-year-old Percy, just named Prefect a few weeks ago, was stood hyperventilating over the fact that there was a stain on one of the tablecloths. Or Molly supposed there was a stain. She wondered how he'd been able to catch something so microscopic with vision that was that bad to begin with. They had only been there for all of five seconds before Percy decided to pull out a bottle of cleaning spray and a towel. He was rubbing the paper-thin cloth so badly that Molly was sure that he was going to tear it in the next five minutes.

"Percy," she placed her hand as firmly as she could on his arm. He looked like he was in pain. " _Not. Here."_

Percy's eyes were zeroed in on the tablecloth. "It's almost out," he tried to convince her. His hands were twitching practically, and she became suddenly aware of how tall he'd become in the last few months. "Nobody's even here, mum!"

"Aunt Muriel is here," Fred snickered. "Come on, Perce. You're acting like you just escaped St Mungo's asylum unit."

George agreed. "Plus, if you behave yourself, Dad will get you a box of soap for Christmas."

"Ha _ha_ ," Percy cut him off, looking at him seriously. "I'm not the one that destroys five Hogwarts' toilets a week for fun but _I'm_ the mental one. I wonder, if I happen to die, _who_ are you going to ridicule after my funeral?"

George _tsk-tsk_ ed. "Perce, as if you'd die! You'd wake up the second that you knew we were putting you in dirt."

Molly looked around. They were a little early, and yes, there were not many people here but the last thing she wanted was for Aunt Muriel to announce to the whole ballroom that ' _that's the mental one, scrubbing away at nothing! Does anyone need anything cleaned?'_. She did that last Christmas when Percy had nearly lost his mind when he'd accidentally spilled a little gravy on his trousers. Percy loved roast dinners, but he refused to eat them most of the time because of the spilled gravy.

"Percy, this is _not_ normal," she told him, as if that ever stopped him before. "Do you understand?"

He nodded his head. "I understand, I understand," he said dismissively. The red flag that day she remembered so vividly was that Percy's dress robes, which were black, were bordering on grey because of how many times he'd managed to wash them. He'd drowned out their colour and made them look second-hand. Arthur was livid when he saw Percy that morning and had a fight with him about how he'd ruined those robes. "But I have whiter parchment paper than this."

 _"Percival!"_ Molly looked at him with a disapproving look. He completely ignored it.

As Percy moved over to clean the table again, someone on Arthur's side of the family was snickering. Molly felt her blood boiling because she could see that people were staring at Percy, who was cleaning something that was already flawless. When he saw one of the little girls look up to her mum and ask her what that redhead was doing, Molly couldn't take it.

"Stop it," she was not about to raise her voice at him. She knew he couldn't help it. "Percival, _please_ , for love of Merlin!"

"I would've been done now if you wouldn't stand over my shoulder," Percy sounded annoyed. He sprayed a little more of his cleaning solution. The table was so clean even the design wore off, but Percy was still trying to wipe it away. Molly's hands were shaking because he was so oblivious to everyone else around him. "Even Snape isn't as bad as this, mum!"

"Well… well…" Molly begged. _"Hurry!"_ and before he could say anything, Percy's cleaning solution bottle exploded.

Fireworks exploded into the centre of the room. Candles were melting and knocked over. Petit fours were flying everywhere. Splatters of orange and purple covered Percy's face, dress robes and the tables. Percy went stiff for a second, as Fred and George collapsed into laughter. Molly momentarily realised that her white robes were covered in a heinous amount of paint, that would take forever to wash off and Percy's eyes were twitching. He'd probably gone into shock.

Arthur looked like he'd wanted to tell off the twins, but Molly had beat him to it.

 _"WHAT DID YOU TWO DO NOW? TODAY OF ALL DAYS! WHEN I SPECIFICALLY TOLD YOU NOT TO!"_ Molly shrieked, looking around the room and noticing that everyone was staring at her. They were screaming about blobs of purple on their pastel-coloured frilly dress robes, and Molly looked like she was about to faint. " _HOW DARE YOU!"_

"As if I'm not a laughingstock already," Molly felt so shocked that she felt like crying. Fred and George had calmed down laughing and were a little concerned over the fact that Molly looked like she was about to ruin her makeup with her tears. Even Mrs Primpernelle's strongest tear-free solution wouldn't have been able to help her. "I told you how important this is to me! You know how your uncle Clarence's happiness is of utmost important _TODAY!_ And yet-yet you choose to…"

"Mum," Bill walked over with a pale-looking Percy, who looked speechless. "I'll-I'll just take Percy home."

"No, that's…" Molly stammered. "We could just clean everything up. I'm sure that I have… it's so important that—Godric, Percy, why couldn't you be _normal?"_ Percy looked like he'd been slapped, as he placed his hand on his cheek.

"Mum," Bill said softly. "It's not Percy's fault. You _know_ how he's like!" He nudged a quiet Percy, who followed him out.

They'd gotten everything cleaned up by the time that the ceremony was about to start. In fact, if it was possible, everything looked so much more beautiful when they were finished cleaning. It made her feel so much worse when she'd thought about what she'd said to Percy. Molly helped Clarence with his dress robes, even though he looked like he'd wanted to faint. As she walked down the aisle, Lucy wore an ivory dress robes with a veil that stretches from London to Devon. She was tanned and glowing, and the whites of her silver eyes illuminated in the abundant candlelight.

She knew that there were banoffee biscuits at the reception and she'd already planned to take a box of them back for Percy because he _loved_ them. She wasn't supposed to be, but all she could do all night was feel guilty.

"I shouldn't have said it," Molly told Bill, who looked sympathetic. "He's never going to talk to me about his problems."

"Mum, he's not going to talk about his problems even if you didn't say it. You know he keeps to himself," Bill said, but it wasn't very helpful. "Besides, you're going to go get him an owl for making Prefect. I know that's going to cheer him up."

She didn't know _why_ but Percy had absolutely no problem holding any kind of animal. Pulling weeds out of Herbology gave him undeniable heart palpitations that he frequently wrote about but holding a rat he found off the ground was perfectly fine. It was the only reason that Molly let him keep that disgusting thing in the first place.

"He looked relieved when I took him home," Bill suddenly mentioned. _"No!"_ Molly replied, smiling.

"Yeah, he did," Bill said. It wasn't shocking. Percy hated big family gatherings. "He even _smiled_ when he got to his room."

Before Molly could say anything, Clarence joined them after the ceremony, glowing the same way a freshly made potion only did. Clarence hugged Molly, thanking her for being there. Molly had been so embarrassed at what Percy did with the table that she'd decided to stay at that table, watching faded animations of puffy manticores. Clarence looked back at the table, and smiled awkwardly when Bill, Charlie, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George congratulated him.

"Huh," Clarence cocked his head to the side, gawking. "There's… there's a-a stain on that table," he said.

Reminiscing those moments made Molly feel a little ill. She remembered Lucy approaching her at the reception, looking for Percy. She was only a year older than Bill and looked particularly young standing there in her dress robes. The little witch went from Fabian to Clarence and now to _Percy_. She insisted that Molly take a box of banoffee biscuits from him _(he loves them!_ Lucy told Molly, as if she didn't know what her son loved to eat.) The thought of having to owl that little sniveling bitch when even now left her drained of her energy. Lucy probably knew something about Percy that even she didn't know! Molly wouldn't be surprised if that cow knew what had been bothering Percy _all this time!_

"I can't believe he's gone," Molly whimpered, feeling hot tears fill her eyes. She couldn't even bare to say _his name_.

Clarence sat down beside her, moving to place his hand on her shoulder. He was there for her when Fabian and Gideon died. She felt like her whole world had torn apart that day. She didn't think anything could hurt nearly as much. Now…

"It's-it's going to be alright, Mols," Clarence said. "I'm sure that he-he…wouldn't want you to be like _this_."

She scoffed, because Percy loved it when he was the centre of attention. He gloated all the time, puffing his chest out and keeping his head held high. He would _want_ them to be miserable about his death. She knew that much about him at least.

For Merlin's sake, he was nineteen when he died. "It was _one_ fight," she said, feeling her throat ache, her voice tremble.

She fought with her children all the time. The one fight that Arthur had with Percy… it would've been resolved _if_ —

Clarence nodded his head slowly. "I had one fight with-with… Fabes and Gid too, you know? I had one f-fight with them… and-and…" he stammered, clearing his throat. "They-they died that night, Mols. Thinking that I…I hated them for the-the things they'd been doing to me! Godric, it was so-so _horrible_ …I-I can't imagine how Arthur must feel. You-you were always so nice to Percy. It's not your fault that-that nobody could've predicted what would happen to him!"

He gave her a watery smile and then left her to her own devices. As if on cue, Charlie walked inside the room and then demolished a quarter of the spreads jar in about five minutes flat. Molly sometimes wondered where he'd gotten that appetite from. It seemed like no matter what he ate, he was always hungry for even more.

Before Molly could tell him off, she heard a screech outside the window that made her drop the soggy toast in her hand.

"Hermes!" Molly called out, ecstatic when she saw his plump, grey form. A letter! Percy's owl had a _letter_. "Is that you?"

"Hermes?" Charlie looked up from the jar, looking glossy-eyed and hopeful. " _Percy's_ owl?"

Hermes only hooted, and then deposited the letter in front of her. It took her approximately five seconds to realise that Percy didn't write this letter. But neither did a Death Eater, unless they were trying out muggle chic. What on Earth…?

 _Dear Molly?_

 _Hello, my name is Audrey Claire Brown. I'm seventeen years old and I go to school in the London Fox-Palmer Academy. I'm doing relatively well in school (I am having trouble in Biology though). I got my car licence a while ago and I can drive anywhere, if I might have to. I want to let you know that I got your letter a few days ago, about your son Percy's death in the London alleyway fire. I'm very sorry for your loss. The fire happened somewhere close to where I live, and I think I have some information regarding this… and possibly your son. But however, I also have some questions myself, especially since this letter was delivered to me by an owl._

 _I would like to meet you on Thursday at 6 o'clock in the evening. I will be with two other adults. There is a Costa near the site of the London alleyway fire, there that is practically been abandoned since it happened! Can you also bring me some pictures of Percy?_

 _Audrey_

"What is it?" Charlie asked almost immediately, going as far as to tear the letter from her hands. "Oh," he said.

"I sent another letter. Just one last one—hoping that…if Percy didn't die that he'd…" Molly stammered. Charlie nodded.

"It's… it's still good, isn't it?" Molly said softly. They'd both been hoping for someone to tell them that Percy was alive, but no such luck thus far. Instead, she was wondering whether she really was going to tell a muggle the secrets of the wizarding word just to have a little more insight on Percy's death. "She might've seen what happened to him," her lips trembled. "She might've known if he… if he suffered." _Of course, he suffered!_ A part of her yelled. He was _set on fire!_

"Mum… you… you should take dad," Charlie said softly. Molly felt apprehensive. How was she going to explain to Arthur that a muggle girl happened to stumble upon a very descriptive letter Molly wrote about the wizarding world?

 _Dear Audrey,_

 _6 o'clock on Thursday night sounds perfect. I will bring my husband along with me if that's alright. I hope that doesn't make you nervous! We are not at all a critical bunch, if that helps ease. We both have red hair and freckles. It's hard to miss us! I believe it will be a quiet, relaxing evening. I will be sure to bring pictures of Percy along with me and answer any questions that you may have._

Molly paused, rereading the letter. If she'd been Dumbledore, she would've written about how she should think hard and clearly about if she wanted answers to the questions that she had. But instead, she signed off and gave it to Hermes.


	23. A Dance and a Costa Date

_all these different point of views are probably going to be the death of me one day. but basically, there's percy, audrey and the shepards as well as the weasley's right now. and to actually have them meet i have to have their plotlines mush into one at the same time. anyway, enjoy this audrey/percy-esque chapter. as per the next chapter, arthur is the narrator and he meets the shephards for the first time.  
_

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Twenty-Three: A Dance and a Costa Date

* * *

Today was the night of the one of the first dances Audrey had been to in years. And it was also her birthday.

She was a born and bred Libra! She was one of the most indecisive people that she knew. She would probably have a fit if someone presented her with more than three options. She still didn't know what she wanted to do as a career path… almost made her want to give up and join the circus. Well, she would've _if the circus didn't have so many different_ _jobs!_

Audrey hadn't told Charlie yet, because… well, she didn't want to stress him out. He'd probably try to find the perfect gift—probably some eighteenth-century foreboding text telling her that she was to die of an ominous death at the hands of a green light and a death-eating sorcerer. Charlie would then clean said perfect gift five-thousand-times until the text faded.

Oh well. She didn't know when his birthday was either! But… err…um…well, _neither did he._ So, it wasn't exactly the same.

Charlie, Steel, Audrey and Judy were sat in the limousine taking them to this year's fairy-tale themed dance. Tonight, Judy wore a green strapless mermaid dress with glittery, amethyst piping that probably cost as much as Mrs Holden's new Prada shoes (which Audrey commented on, to get an extra homework point!). To accentuate her princess status, she wore a tiara on the fakest red wig ever. Charlie looked like he was biting back laughter—what with being a natural redhead. With the power of tanning beds and homework avoidance, Judy managed to tan her body into a state of dreaminess and melanoma.

"Audie," Judy said. Every time she said that, Audrey heard a honk in her head. _Audi_. "I'm so glad that you came tonight! Last dance, there was a _tie_ for homecoming queen, so now, they're settling it with this one! I _have_ to win against Annie Bell, or I'm going to like _die_ ," she huffed, her reddened cheeks intensified by the blusher she got from Boots.

"Annabelle, not Annie Bell," Charlie clarified. "Her _full name_ is Annabelle Richardson."

" _You_ know her?" Judy asked, looking surprised. "Because she's so lame. She like…doesn't wear a bra."

"Err… neither do you, Judith," Charlie didn't understand. Audrey nearly choked. He was the least sensitive person she knew. He didn't even realise what he said was mean. _Mine are not as-as big!_ was Judy's weak rebuttal.

Charlie pushed his glasses up his nose and eyed Judy's rack. "I disagree," he said promptly. And Judy nearly fainted.

Of course, Charlie knew what her name was because Annabelle Richardson was in his arts class. Yesterday, at lunch, she ran up to him—all of her five-foot-one self and told him that she thought that he was _so talented_. She was also going to dress up like Ariel for the dance. Audrey practically fainted when she saw how beautiful Annabelle's gown was. Why was it now that Charlie was unavailable that every woman under the sea (pun unintended) seemed to want to be with him?!

Judy looked at Charlie and then laughed. "God, Charlie, you're so smart," she said. It left Audrey feeling uneasy sometimes because Charlie didn't know that Judy had a thing for him and had had a thing for him from the moment that she saw him on the hospital bed _months_ ago. "I don't care that you failed PE. _I_ think you're even smarter than Audrey."

"He _is_ ," said Audrey with a watery smile. Charlie's cheeks reddened at the compliment. Steel cleared his throat.

Judy lunged to grab Charlie's arm, squeezing it very lightly. "Audrey is _so_ lucky to have you, Charlie," she said.

Charlie selected her dress tonight when he came by to pick her up tonight. She was wearing a yellow-and-blue tiered dress that looked like it belonged to her mum's maternity wardrobe. Her hair was tied back into a bun and she was wearing her rather giant glasses, without a single hint of makeup covering her copious zits. Not very Snow White in her opinion, but Charlie said that she was plenty pale. He obviously had never even heard of what a Disney princess _was_.

He hated pictures, but Charlie probably agreed to take a zillion of them that night. Her parents _loved_ Charlie.

Steel cleared his throat and grabbed Judy's shoulder. "Um… maybe you should lay off anymore booze, Jude." He moved to go to the cooler and then produced a can, handing it over to Charlie. "Do you want one? Do you even drink?"

"Of course, I drink," he replied, and then moved to grab the drink from Steel's hands. Audrey was apprehensive.

Then Charlie just laid the cold can on his lap, rubbing his hands with it, and said, "Merlin, it's blistering in here!" Audrey wanted to laugh, because he was using the coldness of the beer can to try and cool himself down. "Or is it just me?"

She couldn't help but laugh because he was completely clueless to what he'd just said.

"It's not just you," Judy replied, already slurring her words as she leaned against Steel's bulging bicep. "I'm _so_ hot."

Steel went red. He opened a can and downed down half of it in one gulp. "You look good, Audrey."

 _Yeah right_ , Audrey rolled her eyes. "Thank you," she said, and Charlie looked at Steel with a raised eyebrow.

Audrey felt like she wanted to strangle the girl that she thought of as one of her closest friends. But she couldn't completely blame Judy. She'd been so nervous about the party she drank two light beers already. And Judy barely ate, so that buzz must have been getting to her head. She was trying not to fiddle to much perfectly done French braid, which was studded with more diamonds than Audrey's mum had at her wedding day. Next to Judy, Audrey was woefully underdressed.

Steel had been staring at Audrey all night, and Charlie had been glaring at him all night. What was wrong with _them?_

"I don't like how I look," she whispered into Charlie's ear. She was sure that there were better-dressed salads!

"You shouldn't," Charlie said. "You should _love_ it," he whispered back. Easy for him to say. He could barely see.

Charlie had managed to wear the worst three-piece suit to ever exist. She was sure he'd unearthed from a trunk that housed World War I memorabilia. He looked like he was about to die from consumption with how pale he was. In contrast, there was Steel, who looked like he'd just stepped out of a male fashion magazine. He was _very_ Eric. Audrey didn't know how he'd managed to make the marching band hotter than flapjacks straight out of the fryer. Well, her family _fried_ oats…

As Audrey relaxed into her seat, Judy giggled. She turned to the front seat, her arse looking particularly round and perky in her extremely tight dress. Charlie looked like he was more interested in seeing if his brass buttons were even.

"Audie!" Judy called out in excitement, as she sat back down with a box in her lap. Charlie looked up and then looked like he'd been thrown into a horror movie starring Judy, the airheaded brunette that was about to die within the first hour of the film. "Did you think that we'd forget about your birthday, love? We got you a little something to wear, courtesy of Steel and I of course! And we talked to the rest of the committee about arranged a cake at the dance! Isn't it _great?_ The yearbook committee is going to be taking so many pictures of us tonight! They're going to be _everywhere_."

To Audrey, that was terrifying. As if she didn't feel bad enough that she looked like something that came out of a tomb, now she had to come to the fact that her picture was going to be on _the yearbook?_ It would scare all the elementary kids!

Suddenly, Audrey wished that she'd worn some kind of shocking bright red dress with enough layers of makeup to make Photoshop look like almost natural. She would've worn her silicone moulds underneath her sunflower seed-sized breasts. She would've definitely worn bottom controlling undergarments. And contact lenses with eye colours like _Midnight Blue_. Which made Charlie's naturally blue eyes look almost white from how highly exaggerated the lenses were!

At least _then_ she'd feel confident enough to take pictures that some blokes from 2014 wouldn't be looking at with pity and shock.

"It's your _birthday?"_ Charlie looked betrayed that he didn't know. His face softened dramatically. "You didn't tell me."

"Um…" Audrey licked her bottom lip, not knowing what to say. "It's not important but it _is_ my birthday. I'm eighteen today," she said, and she meant it. Charlie looked stricken though, because he obviously wanted to get her something.

"It is important." Charlie looked devastated. "You're _older_ than me?" he looked like he was in such a predicament.

Audrey couldn't help but laugh. She graciously took the beautifully wrapped box from Judy and ripped open the box before Judy tell her not to. She didn't know what to expect, but she didn't expect _this_. Her whole world crumbled almost immediately when she realised that Judy had bought her a _water bra_. Her band was the wrong size (too small) and it was giant. And she couldn't believe that she opened it in front of Charlie and Steel. If only she could drown right now…

 _Why is it so shocking to you? What else did you expect her to buy?_ A part of her asked. This was painful. _All you do when you're around Judy is buy enhancement products! Do you know what most people think you are…? Most Likely to Go Under the Knife!_

"What is it?" Steel asked, but Judy nudged him, red in the face. Even she knew that answering would cross a line.

 _"Thank you,"_ Audrey said weakly, but all she wanted to do was go home. She was on the verge of bloody tears.

This was all her life in a box. Contorting her body and her hobbies into what she was good at doing. She was good at cat-eye makeup and putting on heavy smoky eyeshadow. She usually put on enough lippy on to make a Barbie retch.

How did Charlie even _like_ her? She must look like the most superficial person in the whole world to him!

"Are you upset, Audrey?" Charlie looked at her with a bashful look to his face. "I… I didn't know it was your birthday. I apologise for that. But I will get you a wonderful present. I promise you," he didn't understand. Bless his freckled heart.

"Oh, Charlie, _no_ ," it broke her heart when she realised he thought that she was upset because he didn't get her anything.

Charlie shook his head, and then confidently said, "I'll get you something." He sounded certain. "I promise."

She wanted to leave the second they entered the gym even though she was the head of the committee. She'd organised the sodding thing! She hated how shallow and superficial she was. All night, all she could do was look at what _everyone else_ was wearing. Even the most boring people in school was better dressed than her! Most of the blokes on the football team looked good in their slim-fitted suits and their shiny new loafers. And her boyfriend, Charlie, would look great even if he wore a potato sack over his head. And every single girl in his path seemed to agree. He was the bee's honey-covered knees. He couldn't get a Coke without being bothered. Audrey wanted to sting them _so badly_. When did _their_ interest pique?

"Do you mind if I ask your boyfriend to dance with me?" an excited Judy asked, as she walked over to Audrey.

Deep down, Audrey knew it was because Judy wanted him. Charlie was right. Even _she_ wanted what Judy wanted.

"No," Audrey said, even though she did mind very much. Every other girl in the class looked like they were envious of the fact that Judy got to dance with the bloke that nearly killed himself in the bathroom on the first day of school. She didn't hate Charlie for what he did. She just thought it was awful that nobody cared about him then. Not even her. "Go ahead."

Charlie looked over at Audrey and waved to her when Judy came to ask for a dance. Audrey waved back. _So_ sweet.

Annabelle Richardson walked to her, wearing that amazing gown that looked about three times as nice _on_ her. "Hey, Audie," she walked towards her and then paled a little when she realised Audrey's choice of clothing. "I can sneak you out on the back and help you change into one of the costumes for the play if you want. I think they have your size."

"No thank you," Audrey squeaked out. She did not want a cake. And she did not want a spotlight to _her_. Not tonight.

Annabelle sighed dreamily, as she stood there looking at Charlie. "Do you know that your boyfriend's name was an option for homecoming king?" she asked, and Audrey then felt uneasy. She didn't know how Charlie would react to that. "Well, it's not homecoming today, but I'm sure you know that Judy and I were tied for a spot last time. And Charlie and Steel."

 _Charlie and Steel?_ Audrey thought that that was most unusual. "Oh," she said. "Charlie and I were busy that night."

She bet that Charlie was at home, cleaning his bathroom. And she was probably sat in her room, reading awful magazines.

"Lucky you. Charlie is _so_ talented," Annabelle gushed, holding a Coke. If Gloria let him, Charlie would probably drink about ten of those a day. He loved fizzy drinks, and he especially loved a Coke. He probably went through withdrawal without them. "Did he show you what he was working on? His sketches are incredible, but his painting is… _mind-blowing_. Sometimes, it feels like things in it are moving! I-I can't wait until he finishes it. Mr Barson said he was going to put Charlie up for a spot on the gallery opening at the end of the year whether he wanted it or not. He just wishes that Charlie would stop being so meticulous sometimes. At this rate, he'd only have that one painting up! You need at least six."

Watching Charlie and Judy dance in the middle of the crowd left Audrey shivering. But she _told_ Judy she could, right?

"He didn't show me anything," Audrey felt like crying. She told him to pursue it as a career. _Why didn't he show_ _her?_

Sat there feeling sorry for herself, Audrey didn't even notice that Charlie was standing there until he reached out to grab her hand. His eyes were glowing, and he looked particularly content. "May I have this dance?" he asked.

"Not now, Charlie," Audrey realised that she really was spoiling the mood, but she didn't feel like dancing.

He frowned and cocked his head to one side. He sat down beside her. Audrey looked at his hands, which were red and swollen. He'd probably washed and sterilised his hands after having to touch Judy. The thought didn't make her feel better.

Charlie nodded his head. "What _is_ a fairy-tale?" he suddenly asked, and Audrey wanted to laugh at his question.

"They're like children's stories," Audrey tried to explain, pushing her glasses up her nose. She was wondering if maybe she should take up Annabelle's offer and look for a costume that would fit her. "They have mythical beings. You know… things that don't exist at all? Like vampires, werewolves, dragons, unicorns… witches?" she gestured to the décor on the walls of ugly, green-skinned witches sat in front of a hot, bubbling cauldron. Charlie didn't appreciate that.

Audrey remembered Molly's letter momentarily. About wizards and a war. "I believe in such things," he admitted.

She wasn't even the least bit surprised. Should she be worried about her lack of shock? Everything about Charlie seemed magical. The boy who suddenly woke up with no memory at all of who he was, but had owls that sent him letters. At night, he tossed and turned in his sleep, talking about Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix.

"What is Judy supposed to be?" Charlie asked, looking over at the décor. "A witch?"

Audrey resisted the urge to laugh, because he'd just about implied that she looked downright ugly. "No," she said. "She's a princess! There's a film called _the Little Mermaid_ that's come out a while back. It's about this singing royal mermaid called Ariel who is the daughter of Triton. She trades her voice to live a day amongst humans. She has this obsession with collecting their items from lost ships! She becomes mute, but she needs him to fall in love with her as part of the plot."

Charlie looked conflicted for a moment, as if he was trying to remember something. Did he know someone who was obsessed with collecting human things? Probably a reach, so she shrugged and ignored her thoughts.

"I am _very_ familiar with the Greek Gods," Charlie said very seriously, as he eyed the table, staring at the Fanta bottles. "I've never heard of this goddess… _and_ I would remember one that's named after laundry detergent."

"Laundry detergent?" Audrey gaped. She was in complete disbelief. He was talking about _Ariel_ laundry detergent and actual Greek mythology. She couldn't even begin to explain to him what Snow White really was.

But she did, just to see his facial expression change when she told him that she lived with seven dwarves in her film.

"Seven dwarves?" Charlie echoed, shuddering. "Seven of anything is too much!" he looked mortified.

Audrey laughed. She'd even forgotten what was upsetting her so much until Judy called out from the stage. There was a spotlight on Audrey instantly, and she wanted to die when they wheeled out this shockingly large cake that looked like it belonged in a wedding! Audrey was hoping to get by a small photo session, and then hide for the rest of the night.

"Except cake," Charlie revoked, staring at the cake that, indeed, had seven layers. "Seven layers of cake is _just_ right."

Audrey felt like telling him about Goldilocks and the Three Bears but apparently, it was show time.

She faked a wide smile, as she walked over and gushed about how she couldn't believe that everyone was so nice. She looked like something that the cat dragged in, took a piss on and then left in the middle of the road to die. She did not want anyone to take pictures of her. It was bad enough that her parents had photographic evidence of the night.

Charlie followed her, smiling. The whole auditorium was filled with people shouting: _HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!_

Audrey felt faint . Charlie looked gleeful, as Audrey went to blow the candles. But she, the only person in the world that was used to wearing five-inch-high heels, lost her balance on the sneakers that she was wearing and slammed her face into five layers of pineapple frosting. She stood up, listening the jeers of her peers.

The auditorium erupted in peels of laughter. Audrey ruined a cake that looked like it cost more than most people's dresses... definitely more than hers anyway!

Before Audrey could break into tears and then decide to stay in the bed for the rest of the year, everyone started throwing cake _everywhere_. The excitement faded from Charlie's face and he instantly ducked like he was part of a war mission.

"Absolutely not!" Charlie screamed out, though Audrey was not sure to who. "I am _not_ going to approve this."

He grabbed Audrey's hand and then ran out of the gym, because obviously there was nothing that could make you quake in your boots like an awful cake fight. There was icing on the walls, the tables, and the floor.

When they both got outside, they were sweaty and out of breath. The moon illuminated the night. Charlie believed in werewolves. Maybe they were forraging around forests right now as they spoke. She watched his face drained of colour as he peered through the door just to make sure that the _great wizarding cake war_ was still going on. He was still pristine as always.

She grabbed him by his lapel, and then pulled him to her to kiss him. He tensed because she had cake all over her but relaxed soon afterwards. Charlie had frosting on his lips but licked it off with his tongue and shuddered. _"Pineapple!"_

Audrey nodded her head. "It's my favourite flavour," he looked at her like she'd just told him… well, about Molly.

"You are wrong," Charlie said, shaking his head in abhorrence. As if she'd trust the opinions of a bloke that had a metabolism of a giraffe that ran marathons in its spare time and thought that chocolate buttons were a breakfast option.

Audrey laughed, but then felt her doubts and frustrations come to life. "Why… why don't you show me your paintings?"

Charlie looked at her like he was confused. She was confused too. She didn't think she'd tell him that _now!_

"Err… that is an easy question," he replied. "It's because you're not in my art class. But I can show you now if you'd like."

She nodded her head. Charlie grabbed her hand. They walked away from the gym. It was nice just to be alone, with the sounds of their footsteps and fading bad rock music the further they went. She knew that they were not allowed in the building and she was sure that there was no way that Charlie would break a rule just to show her his artwork. Audrey was covered in layers of cake. Well, at least she could say she'd had her dessert tonight. Even if it was a little heavy (literally).

They were stood at the window of the art room. Charlie pointed towards his canvas, though he didn't need to. She knew.

Audrey was ready to tell him off for not being able to see, but she didn't have to. Even from far away, she could see the Burrow slowly come to life. She knew that he'd been working on it at home too. Only a quarter of the painting was done but it was mesmerising. Even from a distance and with glasses that were bigger than the rest of her face, she could practically see how soft and gentle each brushstroke was. It was quite literally a piece of artwork.

"God, Charlie… _I'd_ buy this if I had the money," Audrey told him. And she was serious too. It was like he'd bought this shocking enchanting house into life. He wondered if Molly lived there, with her husband. Did he remember her?

Charlie scoffed. "I doubt it's worth as much as you think it is," he said, rolling his eyes.

Audrey shook her head, still in disbelief. "Charlie, I don't think you understand," she took a deep breath. "It's breathtaking. It's priceless _._ "

She supposed that this was the moment to tell him about Barry's letters, and about the message that she'd gotten back from Molly about meeting him in Costa tomorrow night. But she didn't want to confuse him anymore than he was already. He was just trying to find out what he wanted to do with himself and was already too busy complaining about his constant barrage of appointments. But he _laughed_ today. Even if it was just today, she didn't want to ruin it.

She stayed there for a while, imagining Charlie growing up in a magical house of witches and wizards. Was it even possible?

Audrey tried not to think much of the letter until the following day. By five, she'd been looking for something to wear. She'd put on too much make-up, had done her hair up, but chose to wear her glasses and a pretty t-shirt that Charlie bought for her yesterday with a cartoon of _The Little Mermaid_. She thought that it was very juvenile, but it was also as sweet as the pineapple icing cake. She left the water bra in the box, because her self-esteem was not _that_ bad.

Gloria and Stephen were already in the shops by five-thirty. They already ordered two black coffees.

Audrey wanted to ask him what Charlie was doing if they weren't at home, but Charlie was seventeen years old. He was practically an adult, and she felt bad that that was the first thing that she wanted to ask about. She got herself a hot chocolate with cream and then sat down with them, toying with the lid of her cup. She had never been nervous in her life. No matter how hard she tried, Audrey couldn't even look up to Gloria and Stephen. What if they didn't come…?

Then her heart stopped when she noticed two tall redheads walk into Costa. Charlie looked like them! Gloria noticed too, because she almost accidentally spilled her cup all over the table, but she didn't bother trying to clean it up. Audrey raised her hand up. They looked over at her. Smiling weakly, they walked over to the table and sat down.


	24. The Weasleys Meet the Shepards

_truth be told, i am a little stuck on The Devil Wears Second-Hand Robes. i am really working more on this fanfiction versus that one... because i'm deciding between two major plotlines! so i hope you can take a little more delay, but just to say i haven't abandoned it. to be honest, if i updated each one separately, it'll probably be better. as it stands, i know The Devil Wears Second-Hand Robes is probably going to be longer because it's in 'episode' sequence, and i have loads of mini plotlines. it's shocking actually._

 _ **comment replies:**_

 _ **SolelyReader** : oh, it's going to be a very long few chapters. there's one that's like 9 pages long i kid you not. i don't even want to think about how i'm going to edit it! because this is Arthur-based and hopefully, the next chapter Percy/Charlie is going to be involved._

 _ **.** : i didn't even think it was that bad of a cliffie! it's been a long time since i've actually planned a cliff-hanger. what can i say? it just seemed like a good time to end the chapter because i had to switch perspectives. ;)_

 _ **Phoenixx Rising** : i loved writing it! it's a little different writing Audrey's perspective. i feel like sometimes it really gives me a nice breath of fresh air. _

_**Guest** : thank you! i agree on there not being loads of Percy-centred stories. i feel like there's never enough! xxx_

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Twenty-Four: The Weasleys Meet the Shepards

* * *

Costa was a muggle café that was smaller than Molly's kitchen. The café smelled like the Ministry before a deadline.

Stood there, Arthur could practically imagine the stacks of coffee pots levitating over the filled, sopping sink. Junior assistants from department often paled at the thought because they thought that it was a safety hazard ( _Percy included_ , he thought morosely). Arthur walked into the shop, fully aware that he would talk about the Order of the Phoenix and his O.W.L results to a pair of muggles if need be. Even if it meant that he'd go against the majority of the Order's wishes!

"Is _that_ them?" Molly asked, and then flushed because they were the only people there for Merlin's sake. "I'm sorry. It must be them. They're the only ones here, aren't they? I must sound like an absolute fool but I'm just so—"

"I'm nervous too," Arthur admitted. "Charlie would _love_ this place. You know… if the coffee beans were dragon-roasted."

Molly smiled weakly at him. They were so out of their bloody depth now, weren't they? Arthur felt lightheaded when he saw a girl— _Audrey_ —sat down with her parents, who looked like they'd give Percy a run for their money. He didn't know what muggle job department they worked in, but they really looked like they needed a break. And a firewhiskey.

Godric, how fast was he unravelling? A row with Percy one day and discussing his death with _MUGGLES_ the next!

That morning, he'd been sat at breakfast table where he told his children about the owl that Molly got that week.

He talked about Audrey, the mysterious muggle girl that had questions about Molly's letter (Arthur disclosed its contents, much to Bill and Charlie's surprise). They told them that given how the conversation might go, they might have to tell them about You-Know-Who and the war, much to the rest of the Order's protest. Moody had already been irritated at the fact that Molly had sent the letter describing their location in such flowery details in the first place so he'd been absolutely livid when they said they might be giving a _History of Magic_ lesson to a bunch of muggles! Arthur asked Dumbledore for advice on the subject, but only received a cryptic answer followed by an advertisement for sour honeycomb candies.

"I know that we didn't know how bad he was, Dad," Ron didn't eat the stack of buttered toast he had heaped on his plate that morning. He had no appetite. "But do you really think that a bunch of muggles know more about Percy than _us?"_

"It's dangerous," Bill agreed. "Mum, I know it's _hard…_ but knowing more about it isn't going to bring Percy back."

"But… they might've seen Percy die," Ginny reminded them, as if Arthur didn't feel guilty enough about it. She picked off one of the pieces of toast from the pile that was on Ron's plate and started nibbling at the crust. "They must know something about it. What he was saying to them. How long it took _before_ —" she put the toast down.

Ron hadn't replied. "He _BURNED_ to death, Gin!" he reminded her. "Do mum and dad really need the details too?"

Molly burst into tears, which the Fred shrieking, "Look what you've done, Ron! You've… you've upset mum!"

"Why couldn't you just shut up?" George agreed, looking particularly somber. He looked like he was about to cry too.

All day, he'd been thinking long and hard about this meeting. Arthur knew he shouldn't meet with them. But he couldn't stop himself from the _what if_ 's plaguing his mind. What if they knew something else about Percy's death that hadn't already been discussed? What if they knew where his body was? What if he didn't die in that sodding alleyway?

It didn't help that the Ministry was gloomier than ever. And as for the rest of the wizarding world… _well!_

The thought of the fact that half of the them were celebrating Percy, the evil Death Eater's, death left him in a state of disgust and detachment. Even if they could leave the house, they wouldn't have wanted to. Just last night Charlie banged his fist on the table and yelled, _'maybe Voldemort should kill us all if this is how it's going to be like! He was just a bloody kid!'_

The things that Fudge said about Percy in the last week alone shocked him. It made him sick thinking of enthusiastic nineteen-year-old Percy in his just-pressed Ministry robes, holding his empty scrolls; eager to work for that bastard.

How could you ever think that anything was ever going to be okay when people were smug about your child's _death?_

Even if Percy had been a convicted Death Eater, the reception shocked him. How could so many people be so vehemently against him? People that hadn't met him. And _when_ did he have the time to serve the bloody Dark Lord exactly? He probably hadn't even gotten a full night's sleep in a decade! And _WHY_ was it that they believed it before? Even for a second, they believed that it could've been possibly that Perfect Prefect Precision-Driven Percy was a _Death Eater—_

"They're staring at us, Arthur," Molly broke him out of his trance. Arthur smoothed over the muggle jacket he borrowed from Charlie. He looked like a criminal. Molly didn't look any better with her tight floral chiffon dress. "Let's go sit."

Fuelled with determination, Arthur and Molly sat down on the opposite end of the table from the muggle girl and her parents. They looked surprised, as if they didn't expect it to happen quite that fast. What did they expect to happen? That confetti would somehow erupt from their wands and then they would perform a number inspired by The Weird Sisters?

"Hello," Arthur said, then he realised that he didn't know what to say. _How did my son die?_ was not appropriate. "Um…"

"Um… hello, sir," the muggle girl, Audrey, replied. She looked like she'd decided to cake on all of Primpernelle's line of 'revolutionary' make-up. She was more dolled up than Molly had been when they'd gotten married!

Molly looked like she took a prompt a distaste to this girl. Probably because she looked as fake as Muriel's wedding ring.

"I… I hope you're doing well," Audrey looked nervous as she played with her cup. From the little she'd said; she had a very thick London accent. He bet that she'd never even left this part of England before in her life. It was a shame really. Arthur thought she could've been pretty if she'd put less effort into looking like something that was in a _Witch Weekly_ ad.

Arthur looked at her as if she was mad. Then he lost all tact. "My son just die—"

 _"My name is Stephen Shephard,"_ the tall, blue-eyed bloke cut him off. Arthur felt like he was about to take a Potions exam. "This is my wife, Gloria. Audrey is an acquaintance that happened to be there when-when the owl had attacked her with the letter. I presume that you're Molly," he nodded off to Molly. "And you must be…?"

 _Attacked?_ Stephen probably thought a hug was an attack by the looks of him. It was surprising that he'd managed to be so casual. His tie was double-knotted, and he looked about as stiff as a Nimbus.

"Arthur Weasley," he replied, though he doubted he should be using his real last name. "We came by to—"

"We know what you came by for," Gloria's facial expression as expressionless as a Professor in an O.W.L exam. "But as you've gathered from our reply, we also would like to talk to you about a couple of matters concerning _your_ letter."

"We just lost our son," Arthur said stiffly. "We'll answer any question you may have if you'd let us know how he passed."

Stephen looked over at Gloria with glossy eyes, as he whispered something in her ear. She huffed. She wasn't impressed.

 _The nerve of that witch!_ Arthur knew that tone. _Us first_ , they might as well have said. He couldn't get over what Hermes did. It was unusual. Arthur knew that Percy had probably taken care of that owl with Auror-like precision. Still he didn't think that Hermes would hunt down people that _might_ know something about Percy's death… especially if they were muggles!

Gloria pulled out a muggle writing device and paper. "You said something about a _war_ , Mrs Weasley?"

Molly looked like she was seething. She looked over at Arthur for some kind of support because otherwise, Arthur was sure that she would've tried to hex that woman. "Yes… um…we're _wizards_ , Mrs Shephard," she said in a whisper.

"Yes, you already said so in your letter," Gloria said flippantly, which surprised Arthur. _"The war?"_ she repeated.

Irritated, Arthur looked around to see if anyone was staring. He'd rehearsed this story many a times and told it to all his children before. Percy read so much he even _corrected_ him. "Well, Mrs Shephard… a time ago, we were in the grips of our very first wizarding war, orchestrated by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He is a dark and powerful wizard that wants to eradicate all those that have ties to people like you, people that are… not magical, people that we call _muggles._ And any wizards that are _muggleborn_ , meaning they have non-magical parents. But fortunately, he had been defeated by a child. _Harry Potter_ ," he paused to see if they knew the name. Not at all. He might as well have said _Errol the Great Owlery Otter_.

"A child?" Gloria repeated incredulously. "How old?" and when he said _infant_ , her graphite writing device broke.

"An infant?" Stephen was in disbelief. "An infant saved the whole world from total doom and despair?"

"Yes," Molly said, and then defiantly asked, "Can we talk about this later? Because there are also more important matters at hand. Matters that _I_ need to talk about. Concerning _my son_. You see, I'm not sure if you've understood then when I was writing my letter—but we have a funeral to plan and…and…" Audrey's face softened, as if she could understand.

Arthur thought it was insulting. How could this the potion-enhanced princess understand what _they_ _were feeling?_

Molly calmed down. "I would love to tell you more about wizards, but we risked our lives to come here… _for Percy."_ Her voice softened and she looked like she was ready to cry. "Do you… do you know what happened to him?"

However, he was still surprised at Molly's haste. He was ready to tell them more. In fact, he was ready to tell these muggles some details that Lucius Malfoy and the Ministry would probably kill to have. Because when he started talking, it was as if Arthur had abandoned any kind of Ravenclaw logic he'd ever had and set it on fire.

On the inside, he was clinging onto this small bit of hope that maybe, the muggles knew where to find his son's _body._

Gloria shook her head. "I know what you came here for," she said. "But _I'm_ not satisfied with this information. It's unfair because you seem to know what _we_ are and what we do but we have absolutely no idea who _you_ are—"

"What does it matter?" Molly replied icily. He felt like he'd need to _Obliviate_ them after they were done talking. She looked over at Audrey. "Why do _you_ care about it so much? I doubt it means as much as you're making it seem. And we aren't here to be teaching you wizarding history. _YOU_ … you-you said you knew something about the fire _and_ my son!"

Molly took a deep breath. "What's happened to him, Audrey?" she called out. "Did you see him die? Did he _suffer?"_

Audrey looked down at her lap and then whispered, "He didn't… I don't know if you're good for…" she stammered.

"Good for _WHAT?"_ Molly challenged and Audrey just paled.

"Don't you dare raise your voice at her! She has no obligation to you and she's here, isn't she?" Gloria yelled. "It's so easy for you to talk like you're superior to her. What makes you so much different than the dictator that started your _war?"_

Molly and Arthur only saw red. How dare they compare them to You-Know-Who, who would slaughter innocents in the name of feeling like they were the superior race? Arthur's lip twitched and he cleared her throat, feeling acid burn at the back of it. He wished that he could find the words to tell them all the sacrifices that wizards made for them!

 _"HOW DARE YOU!"_ Molly spat out, looking close to tears. "You don't even know what you're talking about!"

Gloria looked like she'd just been slapped across her face. "We came here for information. We made it very clear that we are not going to tell you what we know until you do. Because I'm not about to be giving poor Charlie over to you just because you claim that you're his sweet, loving mother! Do you have any idea how badly that will affect him? And how do I know that he isn't like this because of _YOU!"_ Did she say Charlie? Were they even talking about the same person?

"Charlie? I'm not here about…" Molly looked bewildered. Arthur felt just as confused. "I think that there has been some sort of misunderstanding, Mrs Shephard! I'm not here about any Charlie. I'm here about _PERCY_. Have you ever—"

"Molly, let's leave," Arthur had a feeling that they were using them. "They obviously don't know anything about—"

Stephen placed a hand on Gloria's shoulder, who pushed it away. Gloria fished a picture out of her purse and slammed it on the table. _"Is this your son?"_ Gloria sneered, her knuckles white and her face even paler in café lighting.

Arthur was about to tell her off. His son, _CHARLIE_ , was at his home! She didn't know what she was talking about.

But Arthur's heart stopped when he saw the photograph on the table. In it, Percy was sat on the carpet in a house, on his knees. He was fiddling with some sort of muggle device in his hands, completely unaware that the photograph was being taken. Percy was wearing white trousers, a grey-and-blue argyle sweater vest underneath a navy button down. It was no denying it was a muggle photograph, but it almost _felt_ magical. He had never seen that photo before.

"Where did you get this?" Arthur managed to wheeze out, his hands were shaking. " _When_ was this taken?"

"Last week," Gloria drained whatever was left of her coffee. It must've been cold.

"Last week?" Molly repeated. "But that's not possible!"

" _I'm_ not your therapist, Mrs Weasley. I know that you think that you lost your son," Gloria put down the cup and then crossed her arms over her chest. "And I know that this must be very confusing for you, _BUT_ if you want me to tell you about what I know, then I'd suggest that you tell me about what _you_ know! Is that understood?"

Molly and Arthur went silent, especially as Molly inspected the photograph. "What is he holding?" she asked, confused.

Audrey looked like something clicked. "Charlie asked me that before too," she said to Gloria and Stephen. Her voice was softer than melted butter. "He didn't know what it when he first saw it. He acted like he's never even heard of a record player before!" they dismissed her. Why would _Percy_ fiddle with a 'record player?' How did he even meet _these people?_

"Fine, I'll tell you everything," Arthur felt defeated. "But then _you'll_ explain to why you have a picture of my son!"

"Fair enough, Mr Weasley," Gloria replied. "I'd suggest you start talking before I ask you to leave."

Arthur shuddered. Did she even believe a word he said? Why did she want to hear the rest of this information? This was information that could get Arthur _killed!_ But he was going to tell them everything. In fact, he was going to tell this group of muggle strangers more than he'd been telling Fred, George, Ron and Ginny—who were not allowed at the Order of the Phoenix meetings.

"Firstly, his name is not _Charlie_. It's Percy," Arthur looked back at the photograph. "But I _do_ have a son named Charlie."

He explained that he had seven children: Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, Percy, Ron and Ginny. Gloria looked conflicted.

"Congratulations," Gloria bitterly sulked. "I couldn't even have one! But I consider Charlie— _Percy_ —like a child to me. Which is why I don't trust you. I don't know who you are, and as far as the government knows, he's my responsibility."

"He lives with you?" Molly sounded devastated and Gloria nodded her head. "He's not _your_ responsibility! He's our son!"

Arthur felt devastated at the revelation. Of course, he was ecstatic at the thought that Percy was alive, but it meant that he was ignoring his mum's owls on purpose. It also meant that he decided to disappear off the face of the Earth so that nobody could trace his whereabouts. He decided to live with a muggle as stiff-lipped as himself instead of coming back home. Did he know at all what had been going on for the last few months? How dare he not reply to _his mother?_

His grief turned into anger, but he was trying to calm himself down. Where else would Percy go? He was a wanted man.

 _"Your son?"_ Gloria mocked. "Yes, you've done a wonderful job, Mrs Weasley! That boy hasn't had more than two hours of sleep since I've met him… excluding the quality sleep he got on morphine! He has managed to slice his skin to the point where he looks julienned. I've never met anyone in my life as disturbed as _Percy_ is. And-and you dare to come here and tell me that _I'm_ not his responsibility? If I wasn't taking care of him in the last few months, _he would've died out in the streets!"_

Stephen tensed, but then relaxed when there was a beat of silence. "We care for him deeply too," he explained. "And I'm sure that this is very confusing, but your son doesn't even remember _who_ he is. He has no memory whatsoever."

 _"What?"_ Arthur felt overwhelmed. Had Percy been _Obliviated?_ "He doesn't remember _anything?"_

If Percy had no memories at all, then that must've been an awful memory charm. It sounded like he should be sat at the fourth floor of St Mungo's, trying to reverse the effects of such a strong spell. Arthur felt gutted because he couldn't believe that he'd jumped to conclusions. If Percy didn't remember who he was, then there was no wonder he'd never said anything about being alive! Did he know what an owl was? Did he know what _he_ was? Would he have come back if he had a wand?

Stephen shook his head. "No," he explained, placing his hands on the table. "He—"

"He remembers some things—scattered details," Audrey said almost immediately. Was that a hint of anger in her voice? She pulled out her rucksack and pulled out this photograph of The Burrow that she'd had that was in grey-and-white. Arthur picked it up, thumbing over the lines. How did she get that? Arthur panicked. "Charlie drew that."

"This is a _drawing?"_ Arthur was stunned. It didn't look like a drawing. It looked like a photograph.

Audrey nodded her head, but she looked like she wanted to get out of here. She practically ripped the drawing from his hands. "This is where he grew up, isn't it? _The Burrow…?"_ she looked frustrated with them. It was like she was able to read Arthur's thoughts. It was like she knew what he'd been thinking about her all along.

Molly nodded her head. "It's our house," she replied. "I just don't understand how you found him if he'd been in that fire, much less that you've…been letting him live in your house! Why would you do such a thing? I don't-I don't—"

"Of course, we've let him live in our house! We've _ADOPTED_ him!" Stephen replied, and Arthur felt sick to his stomach.

 _Adopted him?_ Percy was his son. How could someone else adopt someone else's child as their bloody own? No wonder they felt like they could make their decisions for him! Sat there, looking smug at them… but that stopped now because there was no way in hell that Arthur was _not_ going to be ordered around by an Englishman in a starched three-piece suit.

"You've done _WHAT?"_ Molly screeched. Droplets of cold tea cascaded down her chiffon dress.

"What did _you_ expect?" Gloria asked. "He'd been in the hospital for a month when we decided to take him in! Social services got involved because he'd lost his memories, was an avid self-harmer _and_ a minor. They tried to call his registered guardians—which was most definitely _not_ you from what I remember. The doctors thought he'd been abandoned!"

 _Abandoned_ , the word echoed in Arthur's skull. Percy was in a sodding hospital for a month and muggles thought that his real family had _abandoned_ him. "We… we didn't abandon him," Molly said softly. "For a _month?"_

"But Percy isn't even a minor," Arthur protested. "He's twenty. He works in the Ministry of Magic and has been for years!"

"Twenty?" Gloria echoed in surprise. Audrey's eyes bulged and she flushed deeply. "But we've been taking him to school!"

"Oh," Audrey said, choosing to stay quiet for most of the talk. "I didn't know that…" she turned even redder.

There was a round of silence in the shop. Audrey was fiddling with her thumbs, looking down at her finished drink. Gloria and Stephen were avoiding eye contact with Molly and Arthur, as if they'd just disapparate if they didn't talk anymore.

When were they going to see him? Were these muggles serious about _adopting_ his bloody child? Arthur really would've gone to the Wizengamot, but he knew the outcome: they'd be quicker to throw Percy in Azkaban than settle this.

"We… we want to see him," Molly voiced out what Arthur had been thinking.

He hadn't seen Percy in so long that he'd almost forgotten how he looked like. He knew that he had curly red hair, wore glasses and was freckled from ears to toes, but he'd had a hard time putting those pieces of the puzzle together. He'd forgotten how he even sounded like. In just a few _months_. Why was it that knowing that Percy was alive didn't make him ecstatic? He was the worst father in the world. But all he could think about was all those people wanting him dead, and how it sounded like Percy had permanent spell damage from a memory charm gone wrong. It felt… hopeless.

Gloria looked like she was contemplating it. "You can't tell him about this," she said, as if she really was his mother.

Molly made fists underneath the table, her eyes glistening. "I'll tell him what I want to," she said. _"I'm his mother."_

Stephen looked amused. "Alright. Go ahead. Tell someone that has no memory of you that you're his parents. Tell him that you're all _wizards_ and that he has six siblings," he didn't sound like he believed what Arthur was talking about either. "He wouldn't even believe you!" It got under Arthur's skin, the way that he talked about Percy like they knew him.

"Do you even believe in a word we said about what we are and where we're from?" Molly asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't be preposterous. Of course, I don't," Gloria dismissed. "I don't care if you really live in an enchanted building that belongs in a fairy-tale. I don't care about what _'magic tricks'_ you think you could do. I will have to say that you have a colourful imagination, but it's clear to me that Charlie's psychiatric condition had to have stem from _someplace_ in that family. I don't want to insult you, but you sound about as bad as he does." Gloria pulled her hand up in the air, and then made a gesture that even Arthur could read, no muggle dictionary required: _you're crazy. That's probably why your child is too!_

Arthur held himself from lash out. He didn't want to risk not seeing his son. "His name is Percy," he corrected gain.

"We won't say anything," Molly must've come to the same conclusion. "We want to see him."

The rest of the evening was them talking about how often Molly and Arthur would come to see Charlie after tonight. As if he was Gloria and Stephen's son instead of theirs! A fuming Arthur looked over at Audrey who had no expression on her face. He wondered what she must be thinking. Did _SHE_ believe them? And if she did… why in Godric's name would she?


	25. I Probably Should Go to Bed Now

_i'll have to do comment replies for next chapter or else i probably won't post this for ages!_

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Twenty-Five: I Probably Should Go to Bed Now

* * *

Groggily, Clement put down the cup of filter coffee on his shockingly messy desk. He hated himself for being so chuffed about the fact that he'd just learned how to use Stephen and Gloria's coffee machine. Shouldn't he already _know?_

 _It's okay_ , he tried to tell himself as he rubbed through his glossy, bloodshot eyes. He felt weepy all the time now. _It's okay._

Clement was so tired. It was like seventeen years' worth of exhaustion just came down on him at once. Gloria had been giving him Valium to sleep for the last few days and he'd been constantly asleep ever since. But two unholy nights ago, he woke up with the most intense, stomach-churning nightmare he'd ever had, and he'd been forcing himself awake regardless of how close to comatose he felt. Whenever he closed his eyes, vivid visions of sleepy six-year-old Charlie—no, six-year-old _Percy_ (he remembered his name now)—waking up all clammy, bloodied and bruised at three in the morning.

He gaudily remembered lying on the maroon-coloured carpet in his parents' bedroom, hearing his parents laugh downstairs. His mum listening to Bill rattle off all he'd been doing in school that year _._ The Burrow was paper-thin, and he could hear the happiness underneath him, echoing in his ears. How could anyone _not_ notice Clarence dragging him here?

Percy had been unconscious for the last few hours and didn't know what Clarence did to his body. But he remembered the feeling of how hot and sticky his thighs were when he woke up and how much his body hurt. _I don't know what I did wrong_ was the first thought that came to his mind, because _why_ would someone hurt him if he didn't deserve it…?

There was a time where he used to wake up like that every time that he'd gone to sleep. His panic rising more the more often it happened when it reached a peak in 1984 and he started fantasising about throwing himself out of the window.

What had he done wrong? Why did this hurt so much? Why was it that he still felt the stickiness in his legs when he took a shower? His whole body used to feel broken all the time, and it was exhausting to be sat up, feeling the ache in his… his throat and his arse (disgusting, disgusting, _disgusting_ ). It started happening in the cold winter months, he remembered being sat there with his mum's knitted scarf and jumper. Every time that he'd wanted to tell his mum about _why this was happening to him what did he do wrong why wasn't it ending it hurt it hurt it hurt so much and he was so disgusting he was unclean and he wanted to die_ , the giant vibrant aubergine-purple scarf would tighten to the point where he couldn't even breathe.

He wasn't a shiny new baby like Ron and Ginny were. He wasn't as glossy and interesting as the twins. And he wasn't anywhere near as cool as Bill, or as fun as Charlie. Was he being punished for being so _boring and forgettable?_

This wasn't fair. _It wasn't fair it wasn't fair it wasn't fair_. By the time it was summer, he'd just stopped trying to tell. Who cared? Percy was being punished and he didn't even care anymore. He must've deserved it. He must've been a horrible child. He shouldn't have ever been born. He was just making his parents even poorer, and he wasn't even interesting.

His childhood had been dreadful. All he could remember was being antsy about doing something wrong. He broke down with ease. He stayed away from anything that was remotely childish and spent his time reading books so he wouldn't do anything wrong. He was at a constant vigilance—more than most people had during the war! But even though his mum had praised him all the time, it was a punch to his gut whenever Clarence hurt him. He didn't understand why he was being punished. He tried to busy himself with washing the dishes after dinner because he wanted to delay going to bed. Every time he became dirty, he remembered the feeling that he had where he'd scrub his skin raw and red after Clarence had used him like he was a broken second-hand toy. By the time that he understood what had been happening to him in his third year, Percy had grown sick and bitter. Was he supposed to accept that it was his fault for not saying anything? He lived in a house with nine people that didn't notice what had been happening in his own parents' bedroom!

But Percy knew that in those sleepless nights, he blamed himself. He shouldn't have yelled at the twins. He shouldn't have so much contempt for them. He shouldn't pity himself so bloody much. All those thoughts were like a thick cling of dirt on his skin that he couldn't wipe off, no matter how hard he tried. He had no gratification from what he did anymore. It was just a series of patterns he had to do, because if he resisted it, he'd feel this crippling anxiety that made him feel empty and vulnerable. And he'd have to face all that contempt and hatred that he'd buried underneath stain removers and shoe polish.

Pushing the thoughts away from his head, Clement— _not_ Percy because being Percy felt like putting on a muddy and bloodied oversized coat that smelled of dying rats—cleared his throat and looked at his papers.

His thighs felt like they'd just been stung. When he'd woken up from that striking nightmare just two days ago, his first instinct was to tear out the stitches in his thighs and then grab the first sharp thing he'd seen— _scissors_ no less-and stab himself until he'd managed to soak his cream-coloured sheets into shocking crimson. Then he'd spent the rest of his evening washing his sheets, stitching his gaping thigh wound and rummaging around for his pain medication.

To make matters worse, Clement received his report card yesterday. He was gutted when he saw how low his marks were.

A wave of nausea rolled over him when he considered that his homeroom teacher had told his parents that they wanted to talk about his performance this Monday. He was terrified that his teacher was going to suggest that Clement go into special needs classes. The thought of having to go in a special needs class was so degrading that it made him want to stop trying. In fact, he'd made an executive decision that if they decided to put him in a special needs class, Clement would just drop out of school. Graduating from special needs made him feel like he might as well not graduate.

What was he going to get at the end of that? A pat on his back for his efforts and a red-and-yellow paper hat?

Clement was in so much pain that he couldn't clean his desk, much less the rest of the house. It was in such a bloody state.

As he sipped his coffee, he felt overwhelmed. Clement's desk was strewn with brochures of every single arts school that Audrey had told him about—from the very best to the absolute worst. Gloria and Stephen had taken him to every college they could this month with more to see in the upcoming weekend. The thought of their excited faces as they fought about what programme would be the best for him left him overwrought with throbbing, twinging guilt.

He'd thrown out all brochures to the top schools. Honestly! He couldn't fulfill any of their requirements if he had the answers to the exams in his hands… because as hard as he'd try to memorise the bloody answers, he'd still forget them!

But Clement also knew that he didn't even have good enough marks for even the worst schools…

As he threw more brochures and pamphlets into the basket, the cold-hard truth suddenly hit him like a tonne of bricks.

He'd managed to cross out _forty-nine_ schools in the last few hours. His perfectly lined papers of the most basic requirements mocked him. He felt like he'd just been walloped in the gut by the cold dark reality that was now betraying him. He suddenly felt the depression weigh on him like that heavy Percy-ified blanket that he'd tried to shake off since the nightmare two days ago. With trembling hands, Clement tossed all his papers, brochures and hopes into the bin. He buried his head into his hands, and nosily cried. Nobody else was in the stupid house. Why would he even try to be quiet?

Staring at his canvas made his hands shake. He wanted nothing more than to grab a knife and slash it. But the thought somehow perturbed him more than the fact that he'd managed to mangle his own flesh. But what was the point?

His painting was almost done. The only thing that was left was shading the barn, which would take him about three seconds to complete. He had been working on it from when he'd woken up to when he fell asleep. Talking about all those art schools and visiting them this month had left him so inspired. It felt like there was this sudden lightness in his chest that made him able to paint the whole day without having a coronary every time a little bit of green oil paint splashed on his apron, gloves and disposable plastic suit. Even with the pain in his thighs in the last couple of days, he sat on his chair and spent hours trying to get that grass-like feel to his painting with thin, even strokes with the tip of his yellow brush. After the nightmare that he had, he decided on painting the windows with colours of vivid vestiges of memories. Eight-year-old Percy's fantasy—his salvation, the window that seemed to stretch to nowhere. He could almost feel his bones breaking on impact. Life, like a candle, gone out in an instant. End. Clean and easy. He'd painted all the windows with bright colours except for the one that he chose at random: dark with torn curtains and blood seeping from the windowsill.

By the time that he was done, he felt the effects of barely sleeping. Before he got started on his second piece out of six, he'd thought to look at the requirements for an art school just in case they wanted specific themes for his paintings. Before he even looked at the brochures, Clement was under the impression that all he needed was a good mark in his art class. So this stark realisation was shocking and disappointing in the worst way possible. Why did they care about his maths scores? As far as Clement knew, it might be a bigger advantage to the bloody school if he could barely count!

Tears still blurring his eyes, Clement hobbled across his room, tearing off wallpaper with his bare hands, and throwing paint brushes across the room. He violently threw all his favourite shirts and trousers on a heap on the ground, along with the hangers. He threw his duvet and three blankets and then squatted down to the ground, burying his head into his knees even though his thighs felt like they'd been on fire. When he sufficiently managed to calm down, Clement grabbed his canvas and put it away into the guest room that nobody went into. When it had dried, he was going to wrap it away and toss it in the attic as if it was Dorian Grey's aging portrait of sins instead of the house he grew up in.

Over the next three hours, he cleaned the house from top to bottom. He peeled off his bandages, showering—washing his hair and body sixteen times, or until the water ran from scalding to ice-cold. By then, he'd managed to calm down.

By the time that he'd wrapped secured the bandages all over his body, he debated whether to swallow more pain medication because it made him drowsy and he was dangerously close to falling asleep.

He decided not to. Noticing the time, Clement walked over to the kitchen and peered into the oven to see what Gloria had left him for supper. Oven-baked cod with steamed carrots. Clement groaned. He debated in his head if he'd risk food poisoning just to order a Domino's Veg-A-Roma without cheese. Just as he contemplated, he heard the door slam shut.

 _"CHARLIE?"_ he heard Gloria's loud voice echo only seconds after she walked into the house.

Clement was just about to walk out of the kitchen before Stephen and Gloria almost gave him a heart attack. They looked very serious and Clement felt apprehensive. Were they going to throw him in the psychiatric hospital now?

"Yes?" Clement's voice was soft. "Have I done… something wrong?" he stammered. He'd done a lot of things wrong!

Stephen cleared his throat and then rubbed his neck. "I… we—Gloria and I that is—… I have something to tell you," he blathered. He looked like _he_ was the one that was about to have the heart attack. And by the looks of things, Clement should learn how to do a quadruple bypass quick. "Charlie, we met your _real_ parents tonight."

"What?" Clement replied softly. Those words echoed into his mind. That wasn't even possible. What were they—

"We're his real parents," Gloria was muttering under his breath. He was sure she didn't want him to have heard that.

Clement just vacuously stared at Stephen. "My mother is dead," he weakly argued. "And—"

"No, no, _no!_ She isn't," Stephen told him. "Not only is she alive, she's standing in the living room. She was just talking to Gloria about knitting you a scarf for the cold," he laughed but a cold feeling settled in Clement's spine. He did _not_ want anyone's jumpers, or scarves. He'd rather freeze to death. Just the mention of that felt like he was suffocating underneath a pile of heavy blankets. He was haunting by the feeling of trying to talk but instead, being suffocated by a charmed? scarf.

"I don't want a scarf," replied Clement dryly. He reached to feel for his neck, and then swallowed. "My father left us."

"No, he didn't _._ He's out in the living room. He's a sweet man, Charlie," Gloria looked conflicted. "Listen to—"

"I don't remember him," Clement said hotly. _Get them away from me_.

"Listen, Charlie, you have to admit you're not very reliable when it comes to remembering anything," Gloria reminded him. Clement just huffed, insulted even though she knew it was true. "And you don't remember things as they are."

That was a stab to his chest, because what if he made it up in his mind? What he _thought_ Clarence did what he'd done to him?

He felt tears fill his eyes because he felt so sick. What if he worried Audrey over absolutely nothing? God, why was he such a disappointment? Could he make it one day without having a colossal breakdown of epic proportions? Could poor Gloria and Stephen leave him alone in the house for one bloody day without having to come back to him unravelling?

He felt like he was in Salvador Dali's painting right now. As if he could see his life as he knew it, melting away in front of his very eyes. Past, present and future becoming meddled into a dark-coloured something that hadn't seen the light of day.

He could practically see that sickening wheel of cheese bubbling on that hot, sunny day in Spain. It was that wheel that inspired Dali to paint that stupid thing in the first place. A wheel of fucking cheese was what Clement-Charlie-Percy Weasley-Shephard-Jones had resonated with—maggoty, fleshy, disgusting cheese. Clement wondered if there was anything in the world that could inspire him because as far as he knew, he'd stripped away all kinds of beauty after he'd washed it for the sixteenth time that day. The world he lived in felt sterilised of memory. There was no colour, or passion, no red-hot Spanish sun or wheels of cheese. He could see _The Picture of Dorian Grey_ and how rotten he was on the inside, how beastly and disfigured. It was as if time had melted away any kind of beauty and stability the world once had.

For many a few seconds, Clement was somewhere in his head that he didn't know. Stephen's question pulled him out of the trance of loops, melting clock faces and wonder if Dali felt like his life was melting as his trembling heart failed.

"Charlie?" Stephen's eyes glowing underneath the kitchen light. He somehow looked younger than his forty-something years. "Well, I shouldn't actually be calling you Charlie. Your parents actually told me that your real name is—"

"Percy," Clement said softly, not looking at Stephen. If he had to guess, this was how it felt like to feel time stop. He saw Gloria and Stephen stare at him with dumbfounded expressions, as they grasped at the fact that _he knew_.

Stephen cocked his head to one side. "Why didn't you say anything if you remembered? You shouldn't keep—"

"I didn't remember," Clement cut him off. "I had a dream two days ago. I remembered then… but it wasn't particularly something I want to think about." As if his red-rimmed eyes were not a clue.

"You had a nightmare," Gloria corrected. Clement flinched. "That's why you decided to-to have a strike on sleep? Do you know how you look like right now, Charlie? Do you know how many people have been calling me from your school, worried? Is that why you've been refusing the Valium? The pain medication? The… God, what is wrong with you?"

"I… I apologise for my recent behaviours," Clement nodded his head slowly. He saw no reason to lie to them. Clement was sure that they noticed the fact that he hadn't slept in forty-eight hours. Even if he didn't tell them, it was pretty obvious he was sleep-deprived. "I understand it doesn't make much sense."

"Nothing about you makes sense," Gloria hotly replied, and Stephen flinched. Why did he flinch? It was only the truth.

Clement nodded his head. "I know," he said. How could it make sense? One bad nightmare and he decided never to sleep again? He knew that the only thing that would accomplish was have him rushed to hospital with an IV line of dextrose.

"Do you remember your family?" Gloria asked. She pulled her chin up and stared at him. He was surprised, but then calmed down slightly when he realised that her hands smelled familiar. Her rose-scented hand wash. Clement was no longer grounded; he had slipped into a burrow dug by all the red-haired weasels in Devon. "Did they ever hurt you?"

He felt his heart beating away into his ear drums. "No," he honestly responded. "My family— _my parents_ never hurt me."

"Are you sure?" Gloria asked, and for some reason, that came off wrong to Clement. As if she was being condescending to him. As if he couldn't even answer the stupidest bloody question because he was supposed to be in special needs and—

"No, they didn't. But maybe I'm wrong!" Clement said hotly. " _I_ obviously don't remember things as they are."

"What did you see?" Gloria ignored the obvious jab at her. Her hands dropped to the collar of his shirt, which she clung onto. His stomach flipped, because all he could think of was the germs under her manicured fingernails. Her nails were too long and all he could imagine was the stale bacteria underneath. "What is _so_ _bad_ that you decided not to sleep at all?"

"I-I don't want to tell you!" Clement anxiously tried to shrug her hands off. "Get your hands off me."

"Glory," Stephen called out tenderly. "Just let him go. Let him do what he wants. He'll just have to tell his therapist. And you will tell him about what happened, won't you? You'll tell him about what you've been dreaming—"

He could hear _Arthur, just wait!_ outside of the room. He didn't want to meet Arthur. He did not want to make too much noise, because he didn't want these strangers in his home. He wished he could just somehow magically reappear in his room. He'd just lock it and probably spent a week, doing his favourite activities: brooding, hating himself and stewing in his negative emotions.

"I won't let him do what he wants because if I let him do what he wants, he's not ever going to get better and he's not ever going to want to see his own bloody parents," she said, and then he scoffed. "They gave me this picture of you… see?"

 _You're my mother,_ Clement thought begrudgingly to himself. _Otherwise, you wouldn't act like you know what's best for me!_

Gloria just dropped her hands to her side. She then opened her purse and then produced a photograph for him.

Tentatively, Clement took the picture. In the photograph was his nine-year-old self stood beside a giant birthday cake.

He only knew he was nine in that photo because the cake (with was marred with more buttercream icing than houses had cement) had nine candles on top. Nine-year-old Percy had a multicoloured _Happy Birthday_ cone hat on, which he was sure somehow was recycled from another sibling's birthday party. He was wearing a thin red jumper and looked very pale. The picture was moving. The candles were glowing brightly in the frame and Percy looked around apprehensively, as if he was waiting for a loud sound or something to go wrong. What nine-year-old was afraid of _sound_ for God's sake?

"Is this me?" Clement asked, even though he knew the answer. When Gloria nodded her head, he felt overwhelmed. Why? He'd already known it was him before she even told him. Nobody stared in the mirror as much as he did. He hated his asymmetrical splatter of cheeks and could probably obsess over them in a dark room. He wore the same bloody glasses then as he did now. And his hair continued to have the consistency of curly fries. But hearing it from her felt… so strange.

"Happy late birthday," Stephen only half-smiled towards him. He had such sad eyes. "We asked your parents when your birthday was at! The twenty-second of August. God, you were living with us at that time, weren't you? I—"

Gloria cleared her throat, cutting Stephen off. She placed a delicate hand on his wrist. "They have more of those pictures. I have to admit that they could help you!" she told him. He couldn't remember this picture being taken for the life of him. "You really did grow up someplace called The Burrow. And well, Stephen and I just wanted you to adjust to the idea of having your real parents but-but… it's just more options for you, isn't it? And that's a good thing. And it doesn't mean that you're just going to go back to your old house. At least not immediately. It's just… more— _um_ —…"

"I don't want to go back to my old house," Clement whispered, though Gloria was not hearing a word he was saying.

Clement didn't know how he used to find Gloria so frightening. She wore her emotions on her face so vividly that it scared him at times. She was so scared of losing him that it almost made him forget about how disappointing he was.

"Well, you have therapy this Thursday! Again!" Gloria reminded him, as if he needed reminding. He was sick of therapy. "I'm sure that Dr Bareham is better at talking to you about this than I am." She laughed and it sounded empty and fake.

He shook his head. "I like listening to you talk," he tried to say, even though he most definitely didn't. "Mum?"

"Mum?" Gloria laughed again. "Well, Charlie… _PERCY_ actually, I'd hate to disappoint you but I'm not your mum!"

Gloria's light eyes were filling with tears. He hated being close with anyone more than anything, but he reached forward and hugged her. He felt her wrap her arms around him as tightly as she could, sobbing into his chest. The sound of her wails echoed in the house. He buried his head into her light blonde hair, which smelled eerily of Stephen's new cologne.

"She has six other kids," Gloria whined, her voice broken and cracking. "She doesn't need you. _I_ need you."

Clement wanted to soothe her, but he couldn't tell her that he knew, and that he needed her. He did need her though.

Instead, in a detached and numb way, he said, "I'm sorry," he whispered into Gloria's ear, but he was sure that Stephen was straining to her. "I'm a failure," he crumbled. How long had his 'real parents' been standing in his living room?

"No, no, no," Gloria moved away a little bit. She placed her hands on his cheeks. "No, no, honey, you're not."

Clement closed his eyes for a few moments, letting her words sink in. They managed to turn the heavy pit at his stomach into hot warmth. "I can't go into art school," he admitted. "My grades are too low. Mr Brunson wants to see you this Monday because of how shockingly low they are. He is going to suggest special needs and I am not…I _can't_ —"

"It's okay," Stephen tried to tell him. His voice was unexpected, but just as warm and loving as Gloria's. "It's okay."

Clement took a deep breath, his hands trembling. "His name was Clarence," he said. "He was— _is_ my uncle."

"He was in your nightmare?" Gloria asked, staring at him with a paleness to her face. "What did he do to you?"

Clement opened his mouth. How could he tell her? How did you tell someone something so deep and personal in a bloody kitchen? How did you do it in a way that didn't tear you apart from the inside? That didn't exhaust and overwhelm you?

"It wasn't a nightmare," Gloria realised. "It's a memory, isn't it? That's what's gotten you shaken like a leaf. You're remembering things. Maybe you'd even remember everything now. That's… that's…" she didn't know if it was good, because obviously, remembering thus far had him in a state of paralysis. "Oh, _Charlie…_ honey!"

Gloria moved away from him and stared at his face. Stephen inched closer to his wife. He looked shattered.

He felt hot tears suddenly fill his eyes, and then he suddenly remembered the most important feeling most of all: he never told anyone because he didn't think anyone would believe him. He didn't have any proof. Clarence would only stare at him vacantly, as he told his mother and she would _laugh_ at him. His shoulders slumping, he felt his throat ache. He angrily rubbed his tears away, wishing that he could float away in another land where he didn't have to deal with any of this.

"I'm sorry," Clement bit his lower lip enough to tear blood. He felt like he was just about to collapse on the floor.

"We've been waiting for an hour!" said a man standing from the doorway. He also had red hair and a splatter of freckles on his face. He was thin, tall and wore glasses. Beside him was a short, overweight woman that looked like she just walked out of electroconvulsive therapy. The irritation on their face disappeared as they looked over at him. This was Arthur?

 _"PERCY!"_ he cried out in desperation. Gloria and Stephen stiffened. "It's… it's really you! I haven't seen you since—"

Clement jumped out in shock, managed to slip and collide with the corner of the table. On the ground, all he could do was try to rub his eyes because he was sure that he was seconds away from drifting to sleep. He knew his eyes were bloodshot. He knew he probably looked exhausted. Clement had probably been surviving on little sleep for years, but not _this_ little.

He didn't realise that Gloria had been talking to him until Stephen pulled him up on his feet.

"This is your parents," Gloria gestured to the man and woman standing by the door, speechless. "This is Arthur and Molly Weasley. They came all the way from Devon to see you," she said as he rubbed his eyes.

" _Hmm_ … nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Weasley," Clement slurred his words. As if all the exhaustion just hit him at once.

Molly looked surprised at how red his eyes were too. "Percy?" she said. "Percy, did you sleep?"

He didn't want to answer her, and he found the question so ridiculous that he laughed. "Um…" he found it hard to stand.

"God, that kid needs to sleep before he collapses," Stephen said, trying to steady Clement. "Come on."

Clement staggered almost like he was drunk; his face glued to the Persian carpeting. Arthur held his other arm and tried to help steady him. Clement felt like he was about to collapse on the couch as Stephen lead him to his bedroom.

"Do you remember us?" Molly asked him, and Clement just shook his head. "Do you remember anything?"

Clement shook his head. "I…I-I apologise, Mr and Mrs Weasley," he said, his voice slurred. "For-for meeting me when I'm obviously—not at my current best state. This is—this is so… embarrassing," His cheeks coloured in, at the thought of meeting a stranger like _this_. He didn't even have the energy to resist the fact that they were helping him to his room.

"When was the last time you slept?" Arthur's voice was almost familiar. Clement felt uncomfortable. "Merlin, Percy, I know you barely sleep but it's never been this bad. What… what happened?"

He just stared down at the ground and only yawned in response. "Two days," he replied drowsily. "I'm fine."

 _"Two days?"_ he heard the surprise in Molly's voice. "Merlin, Percival…" who in God's name was Merlin?

As Clement sat down on the edge of the bed, he felt his chest ache when he realised that Stephen's tie was so asymmetrical. He tugged at Stephen's tie, and willed himself to stay awake for a few more minutes just to fix it. But he was so tired he couldn't loop it to form a knot without having an aneurysm. He felt tears suddenly fill his eyes. Why couldn't he…?

"Hey," Stephen tried to console him. "It's okay," he tried to tell him, moving Clement's trembling hands away.

"I need to talk to that kid about this," he heard Gloria tell Arthur and Molly, who just seemed to agree.

Clement cried silently, as he tried tugging at the tie miserably. "It's not right," he coldly replied. Clement wouldn't be shocked if he woke up and realised that they'd admitted him in the psychiatric hospital.

Stephen moved his hand away, and slowly undid his tie. He watched with glassy eyes as Stephen fixed his tie like he was going for a business meeting that was going to change his life. "Is this alright?"

Clement was fumbling through his drawer. He felt like there was something amiss in his room; something that was big and staring him at the face. "Yes," he said, though he was not even sure what to fix because Stephen's tie was perfect. The room was immaculate. Standing there by the doorway, Arthur's shirt was tucked into his trousers neatly, and Molly's dress was proportionate on her frame. "But… um…" he yawned.

A few seconds later, he felt Gloria's hands on his shoulder. He slowly drifted off to sleep. The last thing he heard was her telling him, over and over again, "it's okay, Charlie. It's _okay_."


	26. The Psychiatrist

_for every fanfiction i write, there's usually a chapter i've envionsed. for 'muggle me', that vision is going to take forever. there's a particular extremely angsty scene i've been wanting to write. for 'love and old black shoes', you knew that it was the day that he was going to attempt. for this one, i can't tell you... but it's going to be horrible. i can't wait.  
_

 ** _comment replies:_**

 _**finkles89** : i hope that you enjoy this! oh, i think Percy's problem is going to be leaving there rather than staying... _

_**Son of Whitebeard** : i know! this whole chapter is pretty much about the counselling. hope you enjoy x_

 _ **clairebxrton** : i loved reading your reviews. i feel like every time i read them, i find something new. really made my day and super thoughtful. i love how you dedicated long paragraphs mentioning how much you hate clarence (you're going to hate it when he and percy interact again. you know it has to come up eventually!). lucy is interesting, because i don't think you know much about how she is/ met her yet... it's all in my head (nice). as per water bra, it is a real present. i think poor audrey had the shock of her life opening it! i think all my relationships are dysfunctional to some extent, but that's because i always make percy depressed. and if he's not depressed, he has some kind of shocking mental health issue that he can't go past. i have a serious problem with that. i have to tell you, i'm itching to write an agoraphobic/hoarder Percy story, post-Audrey-divorcing him where he is literally trapped in his own house because of how much he's hoarded. if only one fanfiction didn't take so long to write...  
_

 _i think as much as arthur loves muggles, i can't imagine that there isn't any of that pureblood/wizard superiority over them, even if it's not intentional. it's the ignorance of not knowing one universe from another. i just can't envison it, especially because they do have some of those oppressive characteristics re: squibs. in the books, ron describes filch as almost less than human because he's a squib. arthur isn't a ravenclaw in this, but if you want him to be, i don't see why not ;). i feel so bad for gloria. i gave her a scary number of miscarriages. i think with Arthur/Molly and Gloria/Stephen, they both care but the actual truth is somewhere in between what they think. i'm sorry about all the stuff that happened in your life. i hope that you're able to get past it. nobody deserves to go through those things!_

 _that last review was so crazy (in a good way). i love it. i just don't know how to reply to it! i am honestly so flattered. you're so lovely._

 _ **Phoenixx Rising** : yikes Percy indeed. but at least he went to bed at the end!  
_

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Twenty-Six: The Psychiatrist

* * *

By the time that Arthur and Molly had returned to Grimmauld Place, it was late enough that even the twins were drooling all over the couch—exhausted from wreaking havoc in their absence no doubt! But as Arthur processed the night's events, a feeling of elation suddenly filled his body. The realisation hit him like a giant Bludger, knocking him off his broom of gloom. Percy was _alive_. Warmth spread from his head to his toes. The last time he felt warmth like this was that one time that Fred and George's tester fireworks almost blew off one of his fingers on New Years' Eve last year.

Content and peaceful for the first time in months, a tired Arthur guided a barely conscious Fred and George up to their room. Fred managed to make it to his bed at the end of the room, but George collapsed on the couch next to the door.

When Arthur tried to wake him, George turned to the side and said, "Bugger off."

Arthur excused it. The twins had been so moody ever since they'd found out about Percy's death. He shuddered at the thought. Burst up into flames after the largest row they'd ever had! Then they kept them away from this Order business up until the moment that they had to explain, in explicit detail, that they honestly believed that Percy had been burned alive.

It almost made him want to involve them in the Order, but he knew that that would be a grave mistake.

Even though there was the hippogriff-sized issue of an impending war, Arthur felt hopeful. But it didn't last long because it dawned on him that Percy most likely had permanent spell damage from the botched-up memory charm he was hit with.

Suddenly, Arthur felt like he'd been walloped in the stomach when he realised the cold, harsh reality and its implications.

Yes, Percy was alive, and he was going to be grateful for this no matter what, but he also probably had some kind of brain injury from that spell! As he digested that, Arthur remembered the times he and Molly visited the Janus Thickey Ward. Backfired memory charms were not particularly common, but the residents there practically lived and died on the promise that they were going to be better. _I can't take him there,_ decided Arthur. What were they going to do for him now?

What kind of wizard would be able to reverse brain damage three months after the event?

Before Arthur left, he heard Fred groan from his bed. He sat up, his oversized black-and-white Montrose Magpie t-shirt sagging a little to expose his sculpted, muscular shoulders. He rubbed his red-rimmed eyes. _"GEORGIE!"_ he shrieked.

George got up; his chestnut-brown eyes became as big as Quaffles. As he tried to get up, he managed to slam his head against a broken sleek lamp stood next to the couch. He was sweaty and hyperventilating, as he rubbed the back of his head. Did he have a nightmare, or did Fred just startle him? Grabbing an old, dusty pillow from the couch, he climbed over to Fred's bed and then hit him as hard as he could. "What's wrong with you? Merlin!" he hissed, as he hit him again.

Fred pushed George off him. "Dad went to see a muggle about Percy and all you want to do is sleep?"

After Percy fell asleep, Gloria and Stephen said that Molly and himself should meet up for their group therapy session tomorrow morning to discuss the situation. Arthur had no idea what a group therapy session was, but agreed, nonetheless.

"You didn't have to…" Arthur flushed. "I didn't realise that you'd been waiting for—"

"We've been waiting for Dad since dinner!" George interjected. "It's four in the morning, arsehole. Nothing they heard from a bunch of muggles could be that important. Even You-Know-Who is probably sleeping right now."

Fred ignored George's glare as he looked up at Arthur. It scared him whenever the twins were serious. It made him feel like they were going to tell him that You-Know-Who was downstairs, chugging tea with Dumbledore. Or that Grimmauld Place was on fire, and they were all going to die up in flames. While Arthur tried to figure out what he was going to say, Bill and Charlie walked into the room with bloodshot eyes. Merlin! Did anyone get any actual sleep that night?

"Dad?" Bill peered into the door along with a haggard-looking Charlie. "What happened when you visited the—"

 _"NOT YOU TOO!"_ George groaned, tossing his pillow to Bill. "Do you guys really have to ask him _NOW?_ At four in the morning? Couldn't that wait until tomorrow? When I don't feel like Thor just hit me with his bloody hammer?"

"Yeah, you already established what time it is," Fred told him, annoyed. "Whatever. Go back to sleep."

"You don't have to be awake if you don't want to, Georgie," Charlie said venomously. His shirt was drenched in sweat.

"Don't give me that! It's not that I don't care. I just don't see why you care about what some muggle girl is going to tell Mum and Dad because it doesn't matter. Because _IT'S NOT LIKE IT'S GOING TO BRING PERCY BACK FROM THE DEAD!"_ George yelled. Bill and Charlie winced. Fred paled. "Oh… I didn't mean it like—…" George stammered.

"Percy's alive," Arthur said. Just saying those words eased the heaving, erumpent-sized pain in his chest.

"I'm going back to bed!" Fred announced through gritted his teeth. "George is right. Who cares about what a bunch of muggles said about our brother's death? It's not like nobody knows what really happened to Percy when he died. It's not like I'd crawl over broken ruddy glass to know what happened to him!"

George shook his head. "You already know what happened to him! He burned alive!" he screeched. "I don't see what—"

"Mum thought that maybe we can find his body," Fred said quietly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Because I find it hard to believe that Percy just turned to ashes. He's not a bloody phoenix. It takes a lot to burn through something that solid. And you, my darling brother Georgie, of all people, should know how big his thick head is."

Arthur hadn't even thought of that. Fred was right about how odd it was that they couldn't find a body. It wasn't like a whole building burned down. It was a fire that started in an open space! Was that enough to turn him into ashes?

"We didn't just find his body," Arthur announced. "We found him." He might as well be talking to a wall.

"He set himself on fire because he was smoking a fag," George's voice cracked. "Do you think he didn't do it on purpose? And do you know how much of a fire hazard the stuff he buys are? It burned through everything else that was there!"

Fred shook his head. "Percy was cornered by Death Eaters! He didn't _want_ to set himself on fire… nobody believes that!"

"I think that he wanted to set himself on fire," Bill's voice was soft. "Don't you find the timing unusual? That it happened straight after Dad and him just had the biggest row they ever did? Maybe it was an accident, but it just sounds…"

"Percy wouldn't kill himself in a dirty alley," Charlie argued. "He—"

"Percy didn't kill himself because he's _ALIVE!"_ Arthur bellowed out at the top of his lungs. "He is very alive, so much so that I've seen him right with my very own eyes. He's not dead. He's fine. Well… not fine but…"

The second he said those words; the whole room went silent.

"What?" George looked like he'd been slapped in the face. "What do you mean that…that…?"

Fred was just as dumbfounded. They spent the last few weeks trying to plan Percy's funeral for Merlin's sake!

"I saw him," Arthur spoke softly. "He's living with a couple of muggles." It was surreal remembering the fact that he saw Percy in a muggle house, wearing a loose pink button-down and black trousers. On the table, there had been a takeaway menu for a place called Domino's. What was his life like right now? How could so much change in a matter of months?

"You saw him?" Charlie asked numbly. Arthur nodded his head. "What is he doing living with muggles for?"

"So… he's just been ignoring mum's owls?" Fred scolded. "Letting us mourn him as we planned his funeral?"

"What did you want him to do?" Bill scowled at poor, worn-out Fred. "His face is plastered everywhere! And after the row he had with Dad, he probably didn't feel safe enough to come home! He—"

"He doesn't remember anything," Arthur cut him off. "He'd probably been Obliviated when the Death Eaters attacked."

"They Obliviated him?" Fred inquired. "Merlin, what would they do that for? He doesn't know anything!"

George scoffed, looking torn. "Twelve O.W.L's and the bastard was as clueless as they came."

"I don't know why. If I had to guess, it's probably because Percy wasn't the original target. But because they ambushed him, they couldn't let him just go because he'd just been employed as the Minister of Magic's assistant. They couldn't have him telling the Minister about what happened," Arthur hadn't really thought about it. Maybe Percy _was_ the original target, and the Death Eaters believed he had a connection with the Order of the Phoenix because he was a Weasley and in a high-powered position? But what was Percy doing in muggle London? As far as Arthur know, he didn't know anyone in muggle London. "After the attack, he'd been put into the hospital for a month after the fire. The muggle authorities in the hospital thought that he was a minor. They got social services involved and got him adopted by a muggle couple living in London."

"Adopted?" Bill reiterated in disbelief. "Godric, this is insane! He thinks that he's a muggle?"

"When you saw him, what did he…" Fred paused. "Does he really not remember anything about the wizarding world?"

"He was so sleep-deprived when I saw him," Arthur was depressed just thinking about it. "He hadn't slept for two days."

"That's unbelievable," Charlie sighed in defeat. The sad thing was that it didn't baffle anyone stood in the room. Arthur couldn't remember the last time Percy slept _in_. He woke them up all the time. At three am, eight-year-old Percy would be cleaning the creaky stairs with a wet dishcloth. Two days before their fight, Arthur distinctly remembered waking up because Percy dropped a plate at two in the morning. "I can't imagine you had much of a conversation with him."

"We didn't," Arthur replied, flushed. "But um… when we were introduced, he kept calling me Mr Weasley."

"He really doesn't know," Charlie balked at the idea. "When-when can we see him? When is he coming back home?"

"I don't know," Arthur felt his chest ache at the thought, but what was he going to do? Drag Percy from his house in muggle London so that he could live in Grimmauld Place? Especially when there was a risk of him ending up in Azkaban? Even if he could, he'd doubt that Percy trusted him. He looked at him like he was a stranger. "I would give anything to take him away from muggle London, but I can't. He's safe in that house. If I take him away, I'd be endangering him."

A moment of silence lapsed in the room. Arthur wondered what everyone else felt, what they must be thinking. He felt so conflicted. A part of him was ecstatic and another part of him felt so uncertain. And the emerging doom didn't help either!

"When can we see him?" Charlie asked. Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't really say anything.

"I don't think we can ever see him unless they appoint a new Minister," George jeered. "One that can see that the only reason Percy would break into someone's house is to clean their chimneys when they're asleep!"

Arthur rubbed his neck nervously. "I don't think it's wise for anyone to see him right now," he admitted. "I'm hoping that he warms up to your mother and me before I could introduce him to you lot. I wouldn't want to overwhelm him."

Bill nodded his head. "Do..." he bit down his lower lip. "Does he know who he is?"

"He thinks his name is Charlie—well, the muggles think his name is Charlie," when Arthur said that, everyone in the room just stared at Charlie. Godric, poor Charlie looked creeped out. "The muggles think that he's younger than he is because they were surprised when I told them that Percy was twenty. I think he goes to school with that Audrey girl."

"That's the girl that wrote the owl," Fred remembered. "Wait, our alleged Death Eater brother is in _school?"_ he whistled.

"I bet he's having the time of his life," George laughed vacantly. "As if it isn't bad enough that the Hogwarts teachers had to listen to him, the poor muggles endure him gloating about how he passed all his bloody exams!"

"Are you really sure he's safe in that house?" Fred mused. Arthur relaxed into the conversation but rolled his eyes.

When he went upstairs, all he could think about was that moment when the healer told him that premature, underweight Percy was alive and breathing through a tube. Even with all that blood sucked out of her, he could still remember Molly's glossy gold-flecked eyes as she asked him, "When are we going to take him back home?"

He thought back to the bone-weary Percy that collapsed on his new muggle bed. When could they take him home?

Arthur didn't know how to put an end to the fact that people thought that Percy was a Death Eater. They saw him as some kind of monster. But Arthur couldn't imagine this resolving without Skeeter writing about how poor Percy, framed as a Death Eater, was born in a 'broken home.' For years, under his parents' oblivious nose, he managed to rip apart his skin with his mum's kitchen knife. The thought of reading that on the newspaper made him shudder. He couldn't imagine how Percy would feel like if he walked down Diagon Alley for a set of quills and received pitiful looks, because everyone in the wizarding world knew how he was like. What was worse? To be known to the public as dangerous or mental?

As his mind raced, he tried to think of what to say to Percy the following day. Should he call him Percy? Charlie?

He didn't know how to respond if Percy called him Mr Weasley again. He wasn't Mr bloody Weasley. He was his father.

Arthur barely slept the night. His anxiety kept him awake for most of the night. At five in the morning, he gave up trying and went to eat breakfast. He could barely stomach anything, but Molly forced him to sit down and finish two pieces of wholemeal toast while she ate a small bowl of oatmeal. It was more than he ate in days, which surprised him because he was the kind of bloke that typically ate like a starving basilisk. He'd always been thin, but he was starting to look gaunt.

He revelled in the fact that everyone else in the house was asleep. He didn't particularly feel like answering anyone's questions about where they were going, or if it was such a good idea. It was just him and Molly, and that felt nice.

After packing all the things they were going to take with them, he and Molly went over the map of muggle London a few times. He'd already owled his job and told them that he was not going to turn in. Perkins replied back by six, telling him that they were having a slow week anyhow. Finding the hospital that Gloria and Stephen told him to meet him was hard, but what really took the Victoria sponge was trying to find the bloody room they were supposed to meet in!

The hospital was gigantic. He was actually surprised at how huge it was. It was a creamy mint-colour and it smelled like antiseptic solution, which Percy must be ecstatic about. Arthur didn't know how to use the elevators so he had to walk up the stairs… he doubted he could apparate in a place as busy as this! He and Molly had probably walked up and down the whole hospital five times, trying to find the psychiatric OPD! The receptionist they'd been bothering about it was more interested in _Taut Tums for Mums_ than she was in his inquiries. Bear in mind that he'd kept on asking her: _What floor did the psychiatric healers usually meet at? Where was I supposed to pick up the potions I might need after?_

"We're late, Arthur," Molly told him, tugging at his suit jacket. The black-haired, green-eyed receptionist didn't care.

Sighing, Arthur felt defeated and dejected. From all the walking they'd done, his feet felt like they were blistering.

"I know I've bothered you already, ma'am. A few times I know, but-um…" Arthur was holding a cup of coffee that had seven creams and six sugars. It was how Percy used to take his coffee. "Um… this is Arthur? Mrs Shephard said—"

"You're _LATE!_ " yelled a voice from behind him. "Do you know Charlie has to go back to school? Or do you not care?"

Arthur nearly dropped the coffee cup on his tattered dark-brown loafers. He turned around and saw Gloria standing there, looking smaller than ever. The pastel-coloured pantsuit she was wearing look like it was swallowing her whole. Beside her, stiff-faced Stephen was wearing the same coloured suit and was holding a Costa coffee takeaway cup marked _Charlie_.

"Um… um…" Arthur stammered, as Molly held his hand. Her hair was pulled back, but strands of frizzy red curls managed to escape her ponytail. She tried to look as tidy as possible by wearing one of the few black frocks she owned, but instead, it just made her freckles look more prominent. Arthur was wearing the suit he wore when he saw the Minister for the first time. Even with his weight loss, it was so tight that he could barely move his arm. "I apo—"

Gloria had already stormed away, and Stephen followed her like a trained crup.

Arthur held Molly's clammy, cold hand as he led her down the hallway. He thought that getting there was going to be straight forward, but he was surprised at how many corridors they had to walk in. It felt like they took five different turns just to end up in the hall just outside the psychiatric healer's office. The door was small, but the room was spacious.

The healer was an old man, with fluffy white hair and very kind watery-blue eyes. Dr Bareham, as his hospital ID suggested, was sat on an old chair, with a notepad on his lap. Percy was sat on a couch, his hands swollen and red.

What shocked Arthur was that there were white bandages poking from the sleeves of Percy's shirt. He didn't notice that before. Was that from the fire? The thought that Percy had burns from the fire made him feel sick. But why wouldn't he?

It sometimes scared him how pale Percy could be. It was not the normal pale that everyone else was. It was this pasty grey sick-looking pale. It was only a little cold outside, but Percy couldn't wear anymore layers if he could. He was sat there with a grey button-down, a black sweater vest, a white tie and tweed pants and jacket. He looked just like _his_ regular stiff-faced Percy but when he looked up at him, there was no recognition whatsoever. Arthur might as well be Severus Snape!

"Please, sit down," The psychiatrist gestured towards the couch. Stephen, Gloria, Arthur and Molly all sat down at once and Percy was sat between his two families. Arthur noticed that Percy heavily smelled of floral-scented soap.

"Good morning," Arthur said. What was he supposed to call him? Percy or Charlie? He offered the coffee to Percy, who tentatively accepted it. He looked like he was wondering whether Arthur slipped a deadly potion in his morning brew.

Stephen looked like he had coffee for Percy too, but he didn't say anything. Was this them trying to be nice?

"Um, this is how you used to like it," Arthur blathered. "I'm not sure if you like it like this anymore or if you even like coffee now, but it is early in the morning. I thought maybe you'd want a drink." Godric, this was awkward.

"Thank you, Mr Weasley," Percy didn't meet his eyes. He was as tense as ever. He sipped the coffee and didn't gag in disgust, so it couldn't be that bad. He _did_ look a little surprised, but Arthur couldn't tell if that was good or bad surprised. It wouldn't surprise Arthur at all if in the past three months, Percy became addicted to muggle Costa coffee.

A moment of silence filled the room. Arthur looked at Percy's bandages. How would someone like Percy cope with having burns? Did he obsessively try to wash them away, and strip away his skin? Arthur shuddered at the thought.

He then noticed that Molly was staring at the bandages poking out of his sleeves too. She looked shattered.

"Do you… think that's from the fire?" Molly whispered to Arthur, who just nodded his head. What else could it be from?

The psychiatrist placed his reading glasses down on his lap. "Hello, Mr and Mrs Weasley. My name is Dr Bareham," he introduced. He was sat there in a duck-egg blue sweater vest, a crisp white shirt, and a pair of old beige trousers. The picture in his hospital ID card was faded and chipped. He had wrinkles around his light eyes. They twinkled in a way that reminded him of Dumbledore. "I'm Charlie's psychiatrist. I've been seeing him for the past few weeks about his obsessive-compulsive disorder. Mr and Mrs Shephard have informed me that you're his real parents and that there was a misunderstanding regarding his adoption, especially because he's not a minor. Is that correct?"

"Yes," replied Arthur softly. "I would like it to go on record that his name is not Charlie. It's Percy. He's twenty. And he works in the government… although I can't imagine that's shocking. I'm sure you noticed that he's a very bright bloke."

When he glanced at Percy, he'd gone red at the praise. Arthur heard him mutter _as bright as a cave_ under his breath.

"The government?" Gloria echoed incredulously. Percy had gone even redder and looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and hide himself under there for the rest of their engagement. "Forgive me, Mr Weasley, I never really saw Percy as a political man. I thought he's very happy with his budding career as an aspiring artist."

Molly looked like she was about to laugh. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Percy isn't really the artistic type."

"Aspiring artist?" Arthur echoed. The last time Percy drew something was when he ended up with the shortest straw. He had to degnome the garden that day. "When did you have it in your mind that Percy wants to do anything with art?"

"Pardon me?" Stephen said, biting down his lower lip so he could try to remain civil about the whole thing.

"It's just that… Percy didn't even draw when he was growing up. He never even liked the colouring books I've tried to get him to use as a kid. He chucked them out of his room when I told him to at least try it!" Molly gestured wildly as she spoke. Vibrant images of six-year-old Percy being disgusted when Ron drew on his walls came to Arthur's mind. "Do you know that before he'd gotten his— _um_ —head injury, his father and he had a gigantic fight about how Percy thought that his job was ambitionless? I can't imagine there's much ambition in trying to be a painter! Especially a— _well…"_

 _A muggle painter,_ Arthur realised she wanted to say. Their pictures didn't even move. Arthur remembered leafing through a book of muggle paintings when he was in a Muggle Studies class and being surprised what they considered art.

Molly cleared her throat when she noticed the room went silent. Dr Bareham was looking at her. "I could be wrong."

"Good jobs don't have to always be ambitious," Gloria argued. "I mean…just look at me! I… well, Stephen—…"

"We're not very good examples, love," Stephen nervously pointed out. "Well, they do have a point."

"I can't imagine that there are that you need to be qualified to be an artist," Arthur tried to imagine Percy, with all his twelve O.W.L's, tell him that he'd decided to cast aside all his knowledge to try and become a portrait artist. The last portrait artist he talked to hadn't even bothered finishing school. It would've been very peculiar. It was the equivalent of finishing off his healer training at St Mungo's and then deciding that he'd rather just have Florean Fortescue's shop?

"Yes, well, Percy had so many achievements when he was in school," Molly couldn't wrap her head around it either. "I can't imagine it ever crossing his mind. Even now going back to school, I can't imagine him being sat in one of his classes and daydreaming about drawing things. It's just—it's not very much like him."

"What achievements?" Gloria mocked, and the way that she said it made Arthur's blood boil. She said it like Percy didn't have any achievements at all beyond existing. "I love him to death, but I'm not going to tell him he's top of his class. What kind of school did he used to go to again? I swear to God that you two are mad as bats!"

"Percy was top of his class! It was an accredited school!" Molly yelled. "He's got a _PERFECT SCORE_ on all his exams!"

Before Molly could say anything else, there was the very audible sound of the coffee cup falling to the floor.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not exactly… the brightest student," Percy said through gritted teeth. "In fact, if it was up to everyone, they'd have probably stuck me into a special needs class because I am 'intellectually disabled'."

 _Special needs? He has twelve O. !_ Arthur felt like he'd just been slapped. He had no idea of a long-term effects of a memory charm but even Lockhart was able to write a book after. "That's the biggest load of rubbish I've ever heard!"

"A load of rubbish?" Gloria echoed. "You're delusional! He has irreversible brain damage!"

"Settle down, Mrs Shephard," Dr Bareham cleared his throat. "I imagine that Mr and Mrs Weasley might be referring to the fact that Charlie—well, Percy—used to be incredibly smart before he lost his memory. This must be a shock to them. In fact, Percy told us this before, didn't he? And I suppose that in his prior life, he really _did_ want to work for the government and couldn't envision being an artist. But things are different now that he's lost his memory. Now, he has a chance to discover some other passions that he might have. It happens. Maybe as you're going to work on your obsessive-compulsive disorder, Percy, you might even discover some other things that you'd prefer to do as well. It's a learning process."

Dr Bareham looked over at Percy. This prompted Arthur to glance at him too. He was so sad and out of it that he didn't even care that that his coffee cup was only half-drunken and that there was coffee all over the floor.

"Yes, yes, it is," Stephen pulled his hand up in the air. Percy looked like he wanted to the Earth to swallow him whole. He looked miserable. "We'll figure something out about your art school… if that's what you want right now. Is it?"

" _You_ want to be an artist?" Arthur was dumbstruck. He thought that Stephen and Gloria had been trying to get him to pursue it as a career. He didn't think that Percy discovered that he'd liked it. "Oh, I didn't…I thought that—well…"

Percy mumbled something under his breath, but Arthur didn't catch a word. He doubted it could be anything good.

"What was that, love?" Molly asked nervously. _It's alright_ , he whispered to her, but she didn't look reassured.

"Well, _MRS WEASLEY_ ," Percy began. Molly flinched and his body tensed. Arthur could feel it because he was sat right beside him. Percy was stiffer than a broom. " _I_ don't really know if I can, given the fact my current grades could not get me a job in a supermarket. Which must be shocking because being an artist requires _so little_ qualification to begin with!"

"I didn't know that you wanted it," Molly honestly replied. "It's just…you never—before…"

"May I remind you that I am not the same person," Percy shot back. "The only thing that I have in common with my older self is the fact that we share an unadulterated love for antiseptic solution. I do not remember you. I do not wish to know you, and quite frankly, I do not want to remember that I used to be such a prodigy! Especially now that I can't boil a potato without setting the house on fire—even after I've read the instructions! Because I have the memory of a goldfish."

Arthur had no idea what a supermarket was. He wondered how much muggle knowledge Percy had now.

It was funny actually. Percy was sat here, talking about all the things he didn't know and couldn't remember, but all the new muggle things he probably discovered could probably fill a textbook! He could teach Arthur a thing or two…

The thought did not excite him. It depressed him, because he was terrified that Percy might not know much about the wizarding world at all. What if he really thought he was a muggle? The thought of Percy going through all that pain and toil for seven years of Hogwarts just to come out remembering none of it made him so sorry for him. The thought that Percy knew less than a first year was one of the most daunting things that he could think of. How was he supposed to teach Percy the whole of magic in the next bloody week? What if Death Eaters came pounding at his doors and he didn't know how to defend himself? As much as Arthur hated to admit it, Percy wasn't entirely safe at the Shephard's either…

He'd probably have to enlist Bill, Charlie or another Order member to protect him. Arthur couldn't even begin to fathom leaving him unprotected in a muggle house with the war looming in on them like a dark cloud.

But Percy didn't look fond of him, and he doubted that he'd be fond to know that he had _six_ other siblings he never met!

"Oh, Molly, do you remember when the Audrey girl showed us that sketch of the Burrow a few nights back?" Arthur suddenly did. Percy wasn't the only one with memory problems. He recalled that Audrey told him that 'Charlie' drew that. How come he'd forgotten that? Godric, he could've saved himself from the humiliation. "It looked like a photograph. She said that you drew it. Did you?" he asked, hoping that he could finally get Percy to ease up around him.

"You've met my girlfriend, Mr Weasley?" this was the first time that Percy looked interested in anything he had to say.

"Your _girlfriend?"_ Arthur thought that Audrey was Gloria and Stephen's real daughter, but he'd been sadly mistaken. He didn't know that Percy was in a relationship with a muggle girl. He tried to imagine _his_ Percy meeting the same girl. Would the old Percy have considered being with her? Because he doubted it. "She's a… very nice girl."

Percy gave him a look as if he was trying to decipher what that actually meant.

Stephen cleared his throat. "Um… Percy, why don't you show your father your sketches?"

Instead of just jumping into it, like… well, like most people, Percy got up from the seat and went to wash the coffee off the floor. He did leave it there for a whole five minutes without doing something, which was something new for Arthur. He also washed his hands—sixteen times—at the sink in the clinic. He also decided to wash his face—also sixteen times.

By the time that he returned, Dr Bareham was giving him a look. Percy saw it but chose to act oblivious.

He unzipped his rucksack and produced his sketchbook. He pulled out a lead-based muggle writing instrument and was leafing the pages through with the tip of it. Arthur was surprised at the 'sketches' that Percy did. They were intricate, detailed and beautiful. He drew dozens of sketches of Hermes and Stephen reading the paper. Bafflingly, Arthur saw some unfinished sketches of his and Molly's bedroom. He drew bits of the room without the carpet or window!

"You're very talented. I-I… didn't know about it," Arthur praised, but Percy remained blank-faced. "I apologise if I made you feel like your current career choice is not a good one. It's just… well, um, it wouldn't have been your first choice before, so it's given me a little shock. But if this is what you really want, then your mother and I will support you."

Percy nodded his head silently. His lips were pursed together in a very thin line. "Thank you…I suppose?"

Molly reached over to squeeze Percy's hand, and he looked disgusted. He pulled out his hand sanitiser.

To be fair, Arthur was surprised that he didn't get up and wash his hands. Either he didn't want to be rude, or he just didn't want to put his sketchbook down on the table until he was sure that it had been sterilised like his trousers were.

Percy continued to leaf through his sketchbook. There was a drawing of a girl with her hair tied back and glasses, organising her Primpernelle-sized collection of makeup (Arthur couldn't tell what was what. It was all Elvish to him). It took five sketches of the same girl before he realised that it was Audrey. He barely recognised her. She was pretty when she wasn't as dolled up as Muriel was at their wedding! But Arthur's heart stopped when Percy got to a drawing of _BILL_. He was stood in an old coat he wore at Christmas three years ago. He lost that coat since then, but Arthur knew for a fact that it was Christmas time. He was wearing the jumper that Molly made for him. It was so telling.

Before Percy flipped the page, Arthur gently tapped on Percy's arm. At his worst, even this movement would have him sat in a bathtub scrubbing away all his skin until it was red and raw. At his best, he thought nothing of it. Today, he didn't.

"Do you know who this is?" Arthur asked. That question startled Percy, who shook his head. "That's your brother, Bill."

"Are Bill and Percy anything alike?" Dr Bareham wondered. For the first minute, Arthur didn't know how to reply to that.

"They had similar accomplishments in school," Arthur explained. "Bill was at the top of his class, was made prefect and went on to a very competitive job abroad. But now, he's coming back to work at the bank here in London, given—well, what happened to Percy. We needed to bring everyone together to help cope with what's happened."

Gloria perked up. "This hooligan is related to him?" Arthur was so excited at the prospect that Percy might actually remember something that he completely let her get away with calling his eldest a criminal! "Do you want an earring too, Percy? I bet that they could get you one of those sterilised clips to wear off the operating theatre!"

"You didn't know?" Stephen laughed. "Did you think the identical bone structure and face shape was a coincidence?"

"Um… um…" Percy was scratching behind his ear. "I don't particularly want an earring, mother. I'm not a ponce."

 _Mother?_ Arthur looked over at his wife, but her hurt seemed blunted by the fact that she just noticed the sketch.

"Oh Merlin, that really _IS_ Bill!" Molly peered over Arthur's shoulder. She looked impressed by the amount of detail Percy managed to put in drawing it—down to the amount of freckles he had in his face! "He has been looking for that coat for years now, hasn't he? I'm pretty sure Charlie hid it somewhere because it was made from dragonhide," she said it low enough that only Arthur heard. He doubted that he wanted to explain dragons to a muggle psychiatrist.

"Charlie?" Percy picked up on it. It looked over at Arthur with a genuinely confused expression. "There's a _Charlie?"_

"Yes," Arthur replied. "You have a brother named Charlie too. Do you want to meet him?"

Percy shook his head fervently. Upon hearing this, he looked devastated, like he'd somehow been replaced. Arthur supposed that he had been 'Charlie' for the last three months, and he didn't seem very keen on being called Percy. Why not? He seemed to become uncomfortable the second that someone called him Percy. Did he just not like that name?

Dr Bareham picked up on it too. "Don't you like your name?" but Percy didn't reply back to him. This whole session was supposed to be about him, but he barely spoke at all. "There's Bill, Charlie and Percy?" he asked Arthur.

"Well, they're seven in total—Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ron and Ginny," Arthur felt his cheeks flush. He didn't know what these muggles thought about that. He turned to Percy. "They miss you so much. They thought that…"

"They'd love to see you," Molly cut him off. Percy looked like he was more likely to say yes to contracting a venereal disease than meeting his siblings from the look on his face. "Don't you want to see them?"

"Absolutely not," Percy didn't bother offering any further explanation.

Dr Bareham raised an eyebrow. "Why not?" he asked. "What's wrong, Percy? Is this going too fast for you?"

"No," Percy sounded on edge. "Are any of them _MENTAL_ like me?"

"You're not mental," Molly's voice was as endearing as ever. "You just…" she was lost on what to say.

"So, the answer is no," Percy pursed his lip tightly. "So, not only am I mental, but I've now also become _stupid!"_

Arthur didn't know if he should've broken it in more gently. By the look of horror on Percy's face, he probably should've.

"You are not stupid. You have suffered a near-fatal brain injury and could still speak, which is baffling to your neurologist. And you don't have to meet all of them at once. You could meet them one by one," Dr Bareham suggested. Percy mumbled something about how he'd rather eat knives. "Yes, well, I do want to move on a little from this. I hope you don't mind me asking you, Mr and Mrs Weasley, but did Percy receive any kind of psychiatric help before?"

"Yes, he started seeing someone at fifteen. He's had this since he was a child but… well, we didn't realise that it was actually a problem," Molly seemed nervous to reply to that. "We thought it was part of his personality even!"

"His personality?" Gloria gaped at her. "I've been a nurse for fifteen years and I've never met any a single child that laid awake at four in the morning, thinking about how he'd rather be dead than dirty." Molly winced.

Arthur bit at his lip. In hindsight, it was crystal clear, but… um, he did fail his Divination exam.

"He just kept getting worse all the time. But I couldn't tolerate it anymore when he came back from his fifth year of his boarding school," Molly continued, ignoring Gloria's looks of disapproval. "He refused to eat or sleep for days. We had so many fights about the type of washing-up liquid I was using. He refused to sit anywhere before he washed it sixteen times."

"I really did try," Molly let out a sob. "I didn't know what happened during the school year, but-but he wouldn't tell me!"

Dr Bareham nodded his head. "And when he went to the psychiatrist for help?" _yes_ , Arthur responded. "Did it help?"

"Oh yes, he'd been getting better practically by the appointment!" Molly answered. "But—well, he'd stopped seeing him only a few weeks after he'd started. Every time I'd ask him, but he'd fight with me whenever I asked him about it."

Stephen didn't seem impressed by that. "Can you take a guess as to why that's happened?" he suggested.

" _Actually…_ in light of the events, Fred and George told us that he stopped seeing him because he believed that Percy had post-traumatic stress disorder," Arthur had balled his hand into a fist. He'd give anything to swing that cocky-looking expression on Stephen's face. "But Percy was very offended. He didn't actually believe that he did."

"We grew up in a war-stricken environment," Molly tried to be as vague as possible. "So, we know post-traumatic stress disorder very well. It's just… it surprised us when the psychiatrist said that he thought that Percy might have it. He was a child during the time, but—well, not to sound ignorant, but _all_ of our children grew up in that environment. It just never made much sense to me why Percy is effected enough to develop such a prominent reaction to it, but nobody else?"

"Even sharing the same background, each child will develop differently than the next," Dr Bareham gestured with his hands to a poster on the wall about child development. "It's down to many things—from his genetics, his upbringing, his personality and his in-built belief system. But it could very well be possible that Percy might have been the only one of your children to develop post-traumatic stress disorder in such a setting. Many people go through exceptionally horrible life events and do not, but to be exposed to something like that from a young age could be very psychologically damaging."

"He never talked about any war," Gloria fixed her oversized blazer. "But he has nightmares that keep him up, doctor."

"You have nightmares?" Arthur hated that he didn't know that, because that explained why he barely slept! If Arthur knew that Percy was having nightmares, then he wouldn't have been so surprised if his psychiatric healer thought that he had post-traumatic stress disorder. What kind of _six_ -year-old child never told you that they were having nightmares? How come he'd never said anything about them fourteen bloody years later? That left him absolutely speechless. Godric, what a mess.

Percy's cornflower blue eyes shined with exhaustion. "I don't remember any war."

It couldn't be about a war, right? Arthur contemplated. If Percy was having nightmares still, it had to be about something else. And whatever that something else was bad enough for him to decide to stay awake for two whole bloody days.

"If you did become diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder and it was attributed to war, would you agree?" Dr Bareham asked Percy, who just flat-out disagreed with it. "Do you remember anything particularly—?"

"Yes," answered Stephen for him before Percy could even reply back. "There was this—"

" _NO!_ I will not talk about that," Percy said with a finality that made Arthur shudder. "Not _THAT!_ "

Arthur was unnerved by how hostile Percy sounded like, but how stiff his body was next to him. It left this terrifying feeling at the pit of his stomach. He didn't know what was so bad that Percy just refused to even think about, much less discuss. It couldn't have happened at Hogwarts, because Percy was like this as a child!

After a few moments of silence, Dr Bareham decided to ask. "Is there anything else you just found out besides that?"

"We'd found out recently that Percy had been— _um_ —he'd been cutting himself with his mum's kitchen knife during the time," Arthur whispered. Percy didn't look the least bit surprised, meaning he knew about it. In fact, Gloria and Stephen didn't seem surprised either! Did… did he still do it? "But we also didn't know about this until Bill told us about it."

"Yes, we know about his self-harm," Stephen gestured towards Percy's heaving bandages. "A plastic surgeon told us that having a skin graft would probably stop those from scarring as badly, but he doesn't want to go under the knife. The surgeons are trying to wean him off the pain medications that he's taking because it's been months. I know that you've wanted to wean him off the Valium too, but… I don't see how he could be weaned off both. He's never going to sleep."

Molly was so stunned that she'd asked, "Those aren't burns? From the fire?" her voice cracked. "What _is_ a skin graft?"

"No, those are… from self-injury," Percy didn't look at her when he replied. "It's fine," he said to Stephen's concern.

"They take skin, either synthetic, from an animal, or from another part of the body, and transplant somewhere else. It'll help knit wounds together when you have such large injuries. To help heal them," Gloria explained in a babyish tone. " _I_ wonder how he managed to do that in a house with eight other people… the amount of pain that he must've been in!"

The whole room went silent after Gloria's outburst. Arthur didn't know how Percy's cuts looked like, but he couldn't imagine how bad they must be if that he was bandaged up from wrist to Merlin-only-knew-where. How did he even hurt himself like this without anyone knowing? Especially in school, where there wasn't any privacy at all. And if he did mutilate himself as badly as the knife suggested, how did he deal with the pain?

The silence lasted for at least five minutes and nobody said anything. Arthur offered a soft smile to Molly.

"Well… I suppose I'll see you all next week," Dr Bareham concluded the session. "I'll see Percy separately the day after tomorrow to continue his exposure therapy." Percy looked distressed when Dr Bareham mentioned whatever that was.

Arthur felt relieved when the session was over with. He hated sitting here with Gloria and Stephen. He knew they were judging his and Molly's parenting. But they didn't understand how it was like when Percy was young and growing up. They had been so concerned with Bill and Charlie going back to school. Molly was so exhausted having to look after Ron, Ginny and the twins too. Arthur spent his time at work, trying to keep them afloat. Percy was so silent growing up, barely said anything. But the more he thought about it, was this just a poor excuse for being an awful father?

Gloria and Stephen left first, and Percy stayed a little longer to wash his hands again.

After they left, Percy and he maintained eye contact for longer than ten seconds. Arthur was about to say something to him, but then Percy tore the sketch of Bill from his sketchbook and gave it to him. "You can take this," he said.

"Oh… oh, thank you," Arthur said, but it didn't really help with that sick feeling in his body. Then in a stroke of some kind of either confidence or uneasiness, he pointed towards Percy's bandages. "Where do those—um… _end?"_

Percy weakly smiled back at him, and then gestured to just above his knee. "Err… well, it's better if you see them."

"Al… alright. Maybe next time," Arthur nervously replied. Godric, most of his body was covered in bandages! And Percy was probably used to other people looking at them from the hospital. "Just um… focus on getting better."

Percy cleared his throat. "I suppose that I…should—"

Before he could help himself, he wrapped his arms around Percy. He couldn't remember the last time that he actually hugged him, but he was stiffer than a corpse. "We thought you were dead. We were planning your funeral for Merlin's sake," Arthur had tears burning into his eyes. He felt embarrassed actually because his wife just reached over to hold his arm. "I'm sorry about not knowing. I'm sorry about that stupid fight that we had. I'm sorry about—Godric, Percy, I promise we care even if it doesn't… even if it must surprise you how little we actually—…but we want to help you and…"

Percy looked uncomfortable stood there in his itchy-looking clothes. "Um… thank you, Mr Weasley."

Molly reached over across from him to place a hand on Percy's cheek. "And Mrs Weasley," Percy added on.

Arthur didn't miss the look of relief that Percy had on his face when he broke the hug. It lasted all of twenty seconds, but it must've felt like a lifetime for him. He looked down at his hands, as if he could see the specks of dirt on them.

"Do you want to come for Sunday dinner?" Gloria suddenly asked, as she approached them. "Audrey's family is coming."

"Yes," Arthur didn't even have to think about it. "Absolutely."

Arthur remembered where their house was from the last time they'd been there. It had only been a few days after all. It would be so strange having a Sunday roast with the muggle family that took Percy in.

"Can… can we bring someone?" Molly asked, and Percy looked apprehensive. "Just Bill?" she offered.

"Yes, you should," Stephen answered for him. Arthur would've thought to go by Percy's pace, but if they did, he'd probably be in his room right now, refusing to go see them. When Percy tugged at Stephen's arm, as if he wanted to talk to him in private, Stephen just stood his ground. "It'll be a nice evening. He and Audrey could exchange hair tips all night."


	27. A Normal Sunday Roast Part 1

**Muggle Me**  
Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Normal Sunday Roast Part 1

* * *

It was freezing outside to the point where Bill was shaking in his tattered, Quidditch pyjama bottoms and oversized Christmas jumper from 1989. This time around in Egypt, he'd still be sweating his dragonhide boots off.

He, Charlie, Fred, George, Ron and Ginny were all in the kitchen. They were each scoffing a full English.

Bill nearly spilled his hot chocolate with cream when his parents walked into the room, beaming like two newly-weds. This instantly terrified him. He hoped to Merlin and all the knights in that round table that they weren't about to tell him that they were going to 'expand the family'. Bill was still tormented by the last time his mum told him that there were going to be a new 'addition' to the family. Besides, there was barely enough room for mould to grow in the Burrow!

"Good morning," Molly walked over to Ron and ruffled his short red hair. "Do you…do you all _k_ now?"

"About the rubbish you're hiding from us about the Order of the Phoenix?" Ron raised an eyebrow. "No."

Molly was wearing the most unflattering frock that Bill had ever seen. It looked like she'd tried to put on a potato sack.

He'd honestly worn better frocks last Hallowe'en when lavender-haired Gino dared him to dress up like Gringott's bank manager's assistant. She looked more goblin-like than the actual goblins! Merlin, no wonder they wanted an uprising.

"About the fact that Percy's not dead?" Fred yawned into his coffee. "Nope. Ron and Gin don't know."

"He's _WHAT?"_ Ginny shrieked. Ron dropped the orange juice that he was drinking all over his lap and cursed.

"Are you heartless?" George nudged him. Fred groaned, rubbing his side. "Did you really just tell them like that?"

"It's good news, isn't it? What does it matter how I told them?" Fred asked. Yeah bloody right. Fred and George had been up all night, talking to Bill about how both horrible and amazing this was. It was like they had a second chance to make sure Percy didn't completely go mad. Because if they didn't help him now, then forty-year-old Percy's biggest accomplishments would be limited to cauldron bottom reports and spending more money on cleaning products than Bill did on dragonhide boots.

Ginny looked paler than she did in the pictures they sent him during her first year. "Are you serious?" Ron gawked.

"No, I'm Professor Lupin," Fred replied dryly. Bill rolled his eyes. He had the tact of Severus Snape and was on his third cup of black coffee with two sugars. Why did he need coffee for? Did wreaking havoc really require that much brain power? "Yeah, when Dad came home last night at three in the morning, he told us. He'd lost all his memories in the fire. You know, from the Death Eater attack. Oh, and he managed to get himself adopted by a muggle family."

"Why did they Obliviate him for?" Ron's eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets. "He doesn't know anything! The only think he knows about is how to find cheap industrial-sized amounts of cleaning products!"

"That's what _I_ said!" Fred shrugged. "But… Dad thinks it's related to them thinking he might know something about the Order. It would've been funny, you know, considering that he's the only person in the family that doesn't know anything about the Order to begin with. But it was probably a really bad charm because he doesn't remember mum or dad."

Ron muttered something about how Gilderoy Lockhart must now be a Death Eater. Another botched-up memory charm?

"Percy actually thinks he's a muggle named Charlie," George added on, stabbing a forkful of scrambled eggs. Every time they mentioned that; Charlie just turned an uncharacteristic shade of red. "Dad says that he's going to school too. As if it isn't bad enough that he has 12 O.W.L's, but he has to get muggle qualifications too!"

Arthur was flushing as he cleared his throat. "Um…well, somehow I doubt that," he looked sad just thinking about it.

"What do you mean?" Bill asked. It was then that he noticed that Arthur was clutching a piece of paper in his hands. It was one of the three muggle things that he actually knew about: paper, a fellytone and a car. Oh, and of course, the most important thing, Bill had discovered muggle McDonald's five years back. He'd put on a much-needed stone since.

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but he let out a horrible sounding sob. It was one of the worst sounds that Bill had ever heard in his life. He felt like his heart had just been ripped out of his chest. Even his mum started to cry when she heard it.

"I believe that—well…" Arthur's voice was wobbling a little. Godric, he felt so bad for his father. He'd been under so much stress lately. Bill couldn't how it must be like to have a fight with one of your sons. One that you genuinely believed died for the past three months. With the war and the fact that people thought that Percy was a Death Eater, he was a little surprised that Arthur hadn't broken down ages ago. "The psychiatric healer that we saw today, and Percy's muggle… 'parents' said that he had some very bad brain damage. I don't think he'd be getting 12 O.W.L's anymore."

 _"Brain damage?"_ Ron looked surprised to hear that. "But Lockhart wrote a book after what happened…a-a best seller!"

"He was also bound in a straitjacket and hadn't left St Mungo's ever since," Ginny reminded him. "What's your point?"

George half-chuckled but was mashing his baked beans with a fork. "It probably doesn't matter because Percy was mental before he lost his memories," he pointed out. "Could he really turn even more mental? He already washes his hands every hour of the day and slashes his skin with mum's old kitchen knife. The only thing he hasn't done is…" he went silent after.

Bill wondered if George was going to say that the only thing that Percy hadn't done was try to kill himself _._

"I feel ill thinking this, but maybe he tried to, and we didn't know," Charlie said, and Bill winced at the idea.

"Absolutely not," George replied with a rigidness that reminded Bill of Percy. "No way in hell!"

Bill found that hard to believe too. Actually, it was absolutely impossible. If Percy genuinely tried to end his life, they would've known.

Fine. He knew that it was more than a little foolish to take Percy to St Mungo's Emergency after he'd first self-harmed and believe him when he said that it was just this once. Especially when he knew about how bad Percy's obsessive-compulsive disorder was. But _that_ was still a leap from suicide. It wasn't a big leap, but it was still a leap! Even though he now knew that Percy was Sleeping Draught dependent, he didn't think that he would've even accidentally taken enough to kill himself.

Molly shook her head. "Georgie, we saw his muggle psychiatric healer today," she said. "He has—had been having nightmares for ages now. That's why his old healer thought that he had post-traumatic stress disorder."

"I don't know how I missed that," Arthur took off his glasses, cleaning them with his robes. "This is so stupid."

"Dad, he didn't tell anyone," Bill reminded him. It was so actually strange that he never did. If he'd mentioned it to mum a few times, she would've known that that was why he had trouble sleeping. But he was never under any impression that Percy had ever had a nightmare to begin with, much less that he was having so many that he couldn't sleep. Every time they used to tell thirteen-year-old Percy off at three in the morning, he'd shriek and mention that his most productive times was between one and five am! "It's not just _YOU_ not knowing, Dad. He spent seven years in Hogwarts for Merlin's sake. Besides his girlfriend, nobody knew what was happening to him. I love Percy more than anything, but it's nobody's fault. He never said anything… so how were we supposed to know about it? I don't think he even knew how bad it was!"

Bill was sure that Percy had top marks in denial. The reason why his parents never found it strange how often he washed his hands was because _he_ never found it strange either. He acted like it was the most normal thing in the world!

"It changes now," Molly grabbed the carton of orange juice in the middle of the table and poured herself a glass.

Ginny had been buttering the same piece of toast for the past five minutes. "When are we getting him back?"

"He's staying there," Molly replied. "The rest of the wizarding world is practically celebrating his death. He's much safer in that house, but your father and I had a talk when coming here and well, his muggle… mum… she invited us for a Sunday roast at their house. We're taking Bill with us. They have to warm up to either you or Charlie—I'd prefer both of you, because I'm not leaving Percy there unprotected. Not with Death Eaters raiding and killing muggles left and right!"

"That's not fair," Ron crossed his arms over his chest. "Just because I hate the prat doesn't mean I don't want to see him!"

"You, Fred, George and Gin are still in school," Arthur said. "I can try to warm him up to the idea, but not now."

"Show him the picture," Molly tugged at Arthur's too-small suit. It looked like it would've fit Ron if he lost three stones.

Arthur flushed and then gave Bill the piece of paper in his hands. Bill tentatively took it.

Charlie peered from over his shoulder, still chewing with his mouth open like the uncivilised cunt he was. Bill's irritation lasted all of three seconds. His eyes were locked on the drawing. Godric, he missed wearing that coat. He rubbed his cheek, taking in all the detail. He didn't remember posing for a drawing because they got him down to the last freckle!

"Percy drew this?" Bill asked. Molly and Arthur looked surprised that he'd figured that out. "Because he signed it."

Molly took the drawing from him and looked surprised when she noticed. "Where did he sign it?"

"It's actually pretty clever. He signed Charlie on the book in the background. As if he was the author of the book," Bill rubbed his neck. He spotted it instantly, but he also deciphered hieroglyphics as part of his job description. "Does he remember me? Does he—…well, does he remember anyone?" Arthur shook his head sadly.

"But don't mention it when we see him on Sunday," Molly told him. Fred and George were listening so intently that it left Bill looking worried. "He gets annoyed when we try to compare him to what he's like now to what he was like before."

"This Percy apparently wants to be a portrait artist," Arthur put down the drawing. Fred reached for it, and then whistled.

Ron looked like he was biting a laugh. "I thought that was a drawing of Gin for a second." Bill just glared at him.

"I wouldn't wear something that girly on Christmas," Ginny replied, only for Fred and George to collapse into laughter.

"I can't believe we could actually ask poor ole muggle Percy to do something for us!" George said. "We could hire the sodding git to design products for our joke shops! Just as long as we don't tell him what Skiving Snackboxes actually do."

Bill shuddered at the thought of obsessive-compulsive Percy discovering Puking Pastilles. He wouldn't sleep for weeks.

Charlie scoffed. "I can't wait until you tell him about your extra-strong dungbombs. He'd love that!"

Bill didn't even want to think about that. The thought of muggle Percy working for the twins was so laughable. Percy wouldn't even realise how ironic it would be. Especially since their Percy would actually rather die than think of working _for_ the twins!

Later that night, his father spent three hours trying to use his muggle fellytone to call the Shephard's. He'd given up and used Errol to send a letter to that muggle girl, Audrey, by asking if it was alright that Charlie come with them too.

After a series of confusing owls over the following few days, Errol came back with tiny flying memo-sized note, reading ' _Gloria said it was fine'_. Bill spent the rest of the week stressing out about coming over. He didn't want to see how much Percy might have changed. It was a peculiar situation, having to introduce a pureblood wizard to the wizarding world? He could barely pay attention to the Order meetings because all Bill kept thinking about was what he was going to say to him. 'I'm sorry I'm such a git' was probably not the best thing to say to someone that had no idea how gittish you'd been recently!

By the time that Sunday came around, Bill and Charlie endured their parents fighting over directions for the first half-hour.

Even with the fuss, they'd arrived at least two hours earlier than they should've for Sunday dinner. Gloria and Stephen, as Molly and Arthur pointed out to them, were dressed in uninspired colours. Bill had honestly felt more suspense when he was shopping for yoghurt at nine in the morning! Their house was detached from any kind of personality and was blander than the Gringott's annual Christmas decorations. As Bill and Charlie shook Gloria and Stephen's hand, another couple walked out of the kitchen door, carrying gigantic sticky toffee pudding inspired cakes topped with a beautiful mountain of walnuts and dates. The two of the most gorgeous-looking people that Bill had ever laid eyes on. He was a little stunned because he was dating Fleur Delacour, who had _veela_ blood for Merlin's sake! But that woman looked better. How was that possible?

She introduced herself as Evelyn Brown and the man's name was Lucas Brown. They were apparently Audrey's parents.

"You're Audrey's parents?" Molly was flabbergasted. It didn't talk long for Bill and Charlie to figure out why.

When Audrey walk into the room, Bill couldn't contain his shock. Her face was dough-like and her dull light brown hair was tossed into a bun. She wore gigantic gold-coloured frames on and a maroon-coloured jumpsuit. She had a full-face of makeup on with Gryffindor colours: red lipstick and golden eyeshadow. She looked like she belonged in a circus.

"Nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Brown," Arthur stuck out his hand, trying to recover from the initial shock.

"Glory told us all about what happened! It's so tragic! What a situation!" Evelyn pulled her light brown hair out of her face. "I think it's such a sad state of affairs. It sounds unbelievable! But we are hoping for the best outcome for Charlie. I didn't ever expect that he came from a family of wizards! It's so strange. We are one-tenth veela so when Audrey told us that she heard about the first wizarding war from you—well, we tried to explain some of the very few things that we know about wizards. But I haven't talked to an actual wizard since 1961!" One-tenth? They made Fleur's mother look hideous.

Charlie perked up a little, and Bill nudged him in the side. She obviously wasn't talking about his gigantic arse.

"You knew?" Audrey looked surprised, staring at her parents with a surprised expression. "What _is_ a veela?"

"It's not important," Luke said. "But we are technically not human! Well…I don't think so anyway."

Bill's head hurt. When they talked, he could practically hear the exclamation points at the end of their sentences.

"Oh, this wizarding classification stuff always sends your father into such a state," Evelyn rolled her eyes, and Audrey was staring at her parents like they'd just started talking in Elvish. Bill couldn't imagine how strange it would be if Arthur and Molly unearthed the fact that they were actually vampires and their favourite sweets were blood lollipops!

Audrey then burst into tears. "I don't understand what you're talking about!" her hands were shaking. "I'm not human?"

Wait, Bill realised that Audrey supposedly had veela blood in her. Merlin, he felt like he needed a pair of glasses…

"We'll, um… I'll explain to you another time, love," Luke seemed disturbed by the idea that Audrey picked up on that.

Obviously, he knew what they were and the idea of telling his daughter that veelas were irresistibly beautiful creatures that had the ability to entrance men might not be great for a girl that already looked like she had issues with her appearance. For Merlin's sake, she caked her face with more multi-coloured icing than a wedding cake. Nobody would look good in that.

"You're not human, but we _are_ beautiful creatures," Evelyn pinched Audrey's flushed cheek, which turned even redder.

Audrey gave her a look of disbelief and crossed her arms over her chest. She looked defeated almost. "Fine," she said. And she said it in a way that sent shivers down Bill's spine because he could vividly remember Percy telling him he was fine as he scrubbed his arms up to the point where the skin was bleeding. Well, she was just as fine as he was!

Stephen looked at Evelyn and Luke oddly. "Is it not usually customary to tell your daughter that she's a mythical being?" he asked.

"Especially given the fact that there's a war on that your kind is implicated in?" Gloria added on. "You know about them!"

Bill was impressed. He really underestimated these muggles. Luke flushed. "I haven't been to the wizarding world since I was eight! And even if I did know that there was still a war going on, what am _I_ going to do for the war when the most elite Aurors are clueless!" Bill realised that they were part of the veela population that had absolutely no magical power. Really, what _could_ they do for the war? Seduce Death Eaters into dungeons? They'd be killed!

Audrey probably didn't know what Aurors were either. "Sounds like you'd be perfect for the job," she mumbled.

"Wait… your daughter has _veela blood?"_ Arthur blurted out, not realising how that must sound like. "It's just that—"

"I thought it's very obvious," Evelyn replied back hotly, realising the implications with his father's words. He went red, but Audrey just looked confused. "I am willing to overlook that statement, but don't make another one again."

"Of course," Arthur ran his hand through his receding hairline. "But I didn't mean it like that," he said to Audrey.

If Audrey understood what he just said, Bill was sure that she would've been in a state.

"Mean it like what?" Audrey threw her purse onto the couch. She looked like she was about to have a breakdown. "If I didn't meet Charlie, would you have never told me at all, mum? Dad? Because I'm just so-so overwhelmed! And if I'm overwhelmed, then how do you think that Mr and Mrs Shephard feel? Or _Charlie?_ Because at least I can go back to my normal boring life at the end of this! I don't know how Charlie's supposed to do that if his parents are mental."

"Percy," Arthur corrected softly. "His name is Percy." Audrey's glossy eyes flicked between him and her parents.

"They're not mental," Charlie said, but Audrey didn't seem to care. And why should she?

Audrey ignored his comment. "I feel like I'm mental." Bill wanted to tell her that that was normal. It was leaps from Percy, who didn't at all acknowledge the fact that sleeping three hours at a time was not normal behaviour.

"Well, um, we thought that the war ended…I didn't know there was another one?" Luke scratched his head. The dumber he acted like, the prettier he looked. Though Bill had a feeling that whilst he was a 'dumb veela' that didn't know anything about the wizarding world, he must be a pretty smart muggle from the way he dressed and carried himself. "Besides, we don't live in that world, love. The only reason I had to know about it was that your grandfather was a wizard!"

She didn't look satisfied with that answer, but she couldn't argue with it anymore.

"It's alright, Audrey, love," Molly tried to tell her. "Half the wizarding world isn't even convinced about that the fact that there is a war! How are your parents supposed to know if they've been living in this part of England all their life?"

Audrey crossed her arms over her chest. "Nobody is answering my questions," she said. "What's a veela?!"

"Well… um, come here," Charlie rubbed his neck, and then pulled Audrey to the side. "I'll tell you."

Bill knew that this was a disaster just waiting to happen. He watched Audrey's eyes widen as Charlie explained, in hushed tones so Bill could barely hear apart from the words 'creatures' and 'magic', as he gestured wildly with his hands.

Whatever he said seemed to be really upsetting her. He felt Evelyn move to grab his shoulder and look at him with worry.

"Does he know what he's doing? Your brother looks very butch," Evelyn commented wearily. "She's very sensitive."

"I love Charlie—um, Percy… but I think he told her something and it's really getting to her," Luke said in a very low voice, as if he didn't want her to hear. Bill picked up on it instantly. "I think that she knows something about him that is very important and horrible, because she kept telling me that she _has_ to be there to see him through. Honestly, she'd barely been sleeping these days. She didn't finish her dinner last night, and I heard her crying in her bed. She was talking to herself once at three in the morning, just saying 'how could someone do that to him' over and over again."

Bill's chest ached. He looked at that sweet little part-veela girl that didn't look very veela-like at all. The golden eyeshadow made her look jaundiced, and the lipstick was harsh against her pale skin but suddenly, he could see how big her heart was.

Evelyn nodded her head, and then placed a hand on Bill's arm. "She'd been bringing in books from the library," she added on. "I know that I'm not supposed to say anything about it. It's all hush-hush and Audrey will never ever forgive me for it, but you have to understand that they're just children. Even if Percy is twenty—Merlin, twenty is nothing these days I'm sure you know. You must think I'm a nutter, letting her see a twenty-year-old. But we… we just have to intervene, especially when the police should be involved." Her voice dropped down even more and Bill could barely hear her.

His heart hammered in his chest, and he felt quite sick. "Sorry?" he said. "What are the police?"

"Err… Aurors?" Luke tried to translate. Why would Aurors be involved in Percy's life? Did they know about him being a suspected Death Eater? Suddenly, Bill felt very afraid of Percy's safety, but he didn't say a single word about that. He didn't want them to think that Percy was not just a dangerous lunatic too. "Bill, listen to us very, very carefully…"

"Yes?" Bill felt like the world had stopped. Even though there was chatter in the living room, it was just him and Luke's hard eyes boring into his soul. It was as if he was in the most captivating trance in the world. "Yes, Mr Brown?"

Evelyn leaned in close to him. "The books that she'd been reading about has been about the things you'd say and do for someone that has been sexually abused," she explained. Bill felt his body go numb. "I think that Percy was raped."

Bill felt like his whole world had suddenly gone black. His parents were talking to the Shephard's and Charlie was standing there, sulking and brooding in a corner, but everything was suddenly muffled. He'd bit so hard on his lip that all he could taste was cold metallic blood. They thought that it had been something in his childhood, like the war. Never in Bill's nightmares could he imagine that they were one of _those_ families. Those families that had somehow overlooked the fact that something so vicious and cruel happened to someone that they loved right under their noses. Suddenly, all he could think about was every time that he'd yelled at Percy or told him off for acting like he knew everything there ever was. The thought that it could be true virtually paralysed him. He wanted to tell himself that it wasn't possible but… _but…_

He left the living room and walked upstairs. In the hallway, he stood beside a vase full of drab-looking lilies. He'd felt the worst that he'd ever felt. Bill sunk down to his knees, buried his head in his lap and then he cried so hard his head hurt.

Bill felt someone tapping something on his arm. He looked up and saw Percy standing there, offering him a box of tissues.


	28. A Normal Sunday Roast Part 2

_this chapter has taken forever to write. there will be a 3rd and final part to 'A Normal Sunday Roast' to end this and then we'd switch from Bill's POV.  
_

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Normal Sunday Roast Part 2

* * *

Bill stood up from where he was sat, ignoring the fact that his legs had the consistency of his father's raw vanilla sponge cake last Easter. He felt like he'd unearthed a tomb, just for germophobic Percy to announce that he needed it sterilised before he could rest. Even though he knew that Percy would rather splinch himself than ask for a hug, Bill couldn't help but crush him into an embrace so tight that he felt like he could count every bloody rib in his reedy little body. Bill's chest tightened when he heard Percy's heart beating— _Thump. Thump. Thump_. His lucky rabbit's foot. His not-dead brother.

"Perce," Bill buried his head into Percy's shoulder. The stupid prat. "I…I thought I lost you."

"Oh… um…" Percy had no emotion behind his voice. "Alright." He didn't know how much it hurt to see him like this.

"Alright?" Bill looked at him with a frenzied facial expression. "You gave me a bloody heart attack. We thought you were dead for months. We thought that you burned alive. Mum and Dad stopped sleeping and eating and…"

"Yes?" Percy stared at him, and Bill realised that he didn't understand. He didn't know.

Bill moved his hands so that they were firmly on Percy's shoulders. Bill's euphoria came to a halt when he realised that Percy's face was blanker than Ron's Potion exam. Bill was just another person in an endless pile of people he didn't know.

"Percy?" Bill's voice echoed. He wondered how could a memory charm erase twenty years of a person's bloody life anyway?

Percy looked uncomfortable being called that. "Yes?" he answered. "What do you want from me?"

What was Percy without his memories anyway? What was Percy without his twelve O.W.L's, his love of _Prefects Who Gained Power_ and his three am musings about failed goblin rebellions and the history of Gringott's? What was Percy without his undying support of the Minister of Magic and his Prefect badge? What was any wizard living in muggle London without any magic?

"I don't want anything," Bill said, laughing awkwardly but feeling ill. "We thought you died."

"I know," Percy replied but Bill shook his head. How the hell could he know? If he knew, he'd… what would he do?

And how in Merlin's name was he supposed to ask Percy if he'd ever been raped? Him? A bloody stranger?

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Percy's tone was the same. Cold, distant, and a comfort to Bill in a way that he couldn't explain. Percy managed to wiggle out of his hold from Bill, looking disgusted. Remembering the fact that Percy might have been assaulted, Bill felt queasy… like he'd just eaten something that had expired last year. He also felt like someone had just punched him in the chest. How could he bloody well breathe? Bill noticed the battered tissue box on the floor, crushed and wrinkled. He couldn't remember what happened to it. "I hate that look."

"Because you don't know, Perce. You don't get how it was like in that house without you," Bill's voice was soft. He didn't think he could make Percy understand just how unhappy they all were without him. "How the hell could you know if you can't remember me—or mum and dad? And your other brothers and Ginny? Because imagine if you thought Audrey was dead for three months. How the hell would you feel if you figure out that she's alive, but she doesn't remember you?"

"Oh," Percy looked surprised by that analogy, as if he didn't try to put himself in their shoes before. "I…I don't want to…"

"You don't want to think about it?" Bill asked. Percy nodded his head. "Well, I don't have to… because it's my reality."

There was a moment of silence between them. Because Percy wasn't to blame for not remembering as much as Bill wasn't to blame for being a victim of Percy's memory charm. There were so many things that Bill had wanted to say to Percy when he'd gotten the chance and now, he realised that he would never get to say them. How could he apologise to Percy for things that he didn't remember Bill doing? How could he remind him of how he'd always been there for him? How could they laugh about the bloody good ole days? Right now, Bill's words just died in his mouth just the same.

"How was I like before?" Percy suddenly asked. Bill just took in his clothes: his burgundy muggle suit, his grey muggle shirt, his black muggle tie, his brown muggle loafers, and his muggle keys clipped to his pockets. "What did I like to do?"

Did nobody tell him that he was a prat that nobody liked yet? Bill thought with a weak, watery smile.

"I don't really think you liked to do very much," Bill answered. "You read a lot—all the time. Do you still read?"

Percy shook his head. "I hate reading," he said, and Bill was more than just surprised. Did that mean that Percy was pretending to like reading millions of volumes of books a day? Was he was just pretending that his main goal in life was to be the biggest prat in school? "I can't remember what happens in any book. Even after a few hours."

"Oh," Bill just let himself relax a little. This must be from the charm… right? "You like drawing now, huh?"

Percy nodded his head. "I would refer to my career choice as something more sophisticated than drawing but…"

"Career choice? Well… um… are you sure?" Bill echoed. It was so peculiar standing there, listening to Percy say that his career choice was to scribble ink on parchment paper. Yes, he was talented but was this really the achievements of a bloke that had spent his whole fifth year making himself ill from stress? And if this was what he really wanted, was this because of the memory charm or was this passion always there but Percy was too afraid to indulge it for fear of judgment?

And if it was the latter, then Bill felt like a right arsehole for the question that he just asked…

"Yes. I understand that I used to be an intelligent person before I lost my memory, but I suppose I'm not anymore," Percy looked away from Bill, his cheeks reddening. "I…I don't even meet the requirements for art school."

What did muggles need art school for? Bill only needed a six-week course to become a Curse Breaker. If he was devoting his life as a portrait artist, he doubted that he needed a six-hour course to learn how to wave around a paintbrush.

"Well… in the wizarding world, you wouldn't need to go to art school to be a portrait artist," Bill said, because he wasn't sure if Percy already knew this. "You'd be able to sell your portraits without going to school. Doesn't that sound nice?"

"It sounds horrible," Percy shook his head. "And I wouldn't want to leave London." Not muggle London. Just London.

"You'd still be in London," Bill answered back. He didn't mind if Percy got a flat in London, even muggle London if…

Percy stared at him with glossy eyes. "I'm sure my London and your London are very different things." He didn't really know the difference as well as Bill did. Right now, Percy was sounding dangerously close to a muggle.

"I suppose," Bill grumbled. Did Percy know a thing about You-Know-Who? He was a wanted man for Merlin's sake.

Percy and him just stood there awkwardly for a few seconds. "Yes, well…" Percy looked uncomfortable.

Bill felt like he was talking to a little kid, not his fucking twenty-year-old brother that had a high-powered job just a few months ago. He felt like he was trying to figure out if a the six-year-old he was babysitting liked Peppermint Toads, or if he was risking a tantrum by bribing him with 'disgusting' mint chocolate sweets. That was what this felt like. Like he was trying not to say the wrong thing that would make Percy, his brother Percy, stop talking to him right now.

"Perce," Bill looked at him seriously, and Percy stared back at him with a vacant expression. "You can't be happy like this. Living in this world all alone… can you?" he was afraid of that answer, afraid to know that he was okay here.

"I'm not alone. I have a family," Percy replied curtly, looking ten years younger. "I don't want it to be taken away."

"Taken away? You were born in Devon. You don't live here," Bill said. "You're a wizard, Perce. You're my brother."

"I don't want to be a wizard," Percy replied back. Bill didn't really take it to heart. What did Percy know about magic? Probably about as much as the average muggle did. He didn't know how wonderful the wizarding world was and that wasn't his fault, was it? Well, it was wonderful save for that part that they were hunting him down. "I don't even—"

"How do you know if you haven't tried?" Bill pulled his wand out of his pocket. "Aren't… aren't you the least bit curious? You grew up in this world. You have five brothers and a sister. You had a girlfriend named Penelope. You had a job that you loved, Perce. And-and there are people that are going to seriously miss you if you don't come back…"

Percy stared at Bill's 175 Galleon wand like he found it in the dirt covered with maggots. He looked repulsed.

"I'm as curious about your world as you are about mine," Percy's voice was unwavering. "I don't care about the Burrow. This is my home. And there is no person in the world that could take that away from me. Do you understand?"

Bill was stunned. He was convinced that his biological family was going to take away his happiness. How bad was that?

Did they really muck him up that much that he finally found happiness in muggle London, living with two people that had the personality of cardboard and a girl that liked to put more ink on her face than Percy did in his drawings?

"This is not your home, Perce… not really," Bill pulled out a photo he kept in his robes. "Look. I bought pictures with me. I was hoping that maybe if you see them, you'd remember something… look," he showed him a picture of him at the Great Feast. "Do you remember this, Perce? This is when you were sorted into Gryffindor."

"What's that?" Percy said, looking back at him vacantly. A legacy stripped away with just a question.

"It's well… um…" Bill didn't know how to explain Hogwarts' houses to Percy. "It's not important now. I suppose."

Bill then offered him another. "This is your thirteenth birthday," he tried to feign enthusiasm. "You were doing your assigned reading before you started Hogwarts and you forgot about your own birthday. You nearly wet yourself when we surprised you with cake," he said. Bill smiled weakly at the memory. "Do you remember? It was your favourite flavour."

"Banoffee?" Percy asked, and Bill felt like he was about to cry from joy. At least this Percy had the same taste, right?

 _"YES!"_ Bill shrieked in excitement, giving Percy the picture whilst he rooted through his oversized pockets. He'd had dozens shoved into his pocket. He'd been staring at them through the journey here to bloody muggle London, which he despised every second of. "And this is when you got your owl, Hermes. You'd just been made prefect, do you—?"

Percy cocked his head to the side. "Hermes?" he said as if it was a foreign name. "Barry's name is Hermes?"

Bill ignored the fact that Percy had renamed his owl Barry. Charlie and his owl, Barry, who lived out their lives as a portrait artist duo. Get bloody real. He'd heard worst stories at the Broomstick Inn, drunk off his arse. "This," he said, showing Percy a photo of him at Clarence's wedding. "Do you remember? This was the only picture you took at—"

"Clarence," Percy said, and Bill's heart literally stopped in his chest. Because he didn't remember his mum, dad or himself but he recognised Clarence instantly. Bill had never felt as betrayed as he did right then. Percy didn't even like Clarence.

There was another moment of silence between them. Bill looked at Percy stare at the photo with shaky hands.

"You remember Clarence," Bill repeated bitterly. He felt like he was in a horrible prank. He was so offended right then and there. "You don't remember mum, dad, me, Charlie, Fred, George, Ginny or Ron—the people you grew up with? But you remember him?"

"Yes," Percy repeated. Bill wished he'd at least pretend to be miserable that he lost his memories. If just for a second.

Bill just turned his head away. No, pretending was too difficult for him. Percy was too happy to pretend to be sorry for what they lost. He didn't know but he didn't even care to know. "Do you remember anything else? Do you remember Penelope? Do you remember our Aunt Muriel? What about—…?" with each name he spat out, he felt more bitter.

"I remember Lucy," Percy replied softly. Lucy. Bill rolled the name on his tongue without saying it. Lucy.

"Lucy?" Bill repeated the name with disgust. He almost sounded like their mum. "You remember Lucy Dencen, but you don't remember the woman that gave birth to you? Are you bloody well serious, Percival?"

Did Lucy know about Percy being raped? If she knew, how come she'd never told anyone? She couldn't have known. She would've said something. And if she didn't know, then what made Lucy Antoinette Dencen-Weasley so special?

"Yes, well…" Percy rubbed his neck. He spent most of his time avoiding eye contact with Bill and it made both of them feel so far removed from this conversation. "I'd…I'd go into your world. If… if it means that I'd see Lucy."

Bill stared at Percy. He was furious, nauseous, dejected and perturbed all at once. How could Percy remember a woman that he saw every six months? But Molly, Arthur and himself were tossed aside like second-hand dolls. Percy lived with them for twenty bloody years. How did it make any sense that he didn't know his mum's name, but was willing to venture into the scary wizarding world that he hated to see Lucy Dencen-Weasley? How was Bill supposed to feel about this? He knew that it wasn't Percy's fault that he didn't know but this was just so frustrating. It felt like he might as well not have bothered turning up if Percy wasn't willing to bloody well compromise with him. Because he wasn't the only person in this house that was suffering because he could barely remember how a wand looked like. This was not his decision to make.

"You'd see Lucy?" Bill felt the words echoing into his ears. "But you don't care about never seeing your other brothers again? Or your sister? You don't care about that, but you'd go into my world to see Lucy fucking Dencen?"

"Are you done accusing me? Or do you want to blame me for other things?" Percy asked him, looking like he'd reached his limit. He looked angry more than he did dejected. Bill suddenly realised that Percy did actually look better than he did the last time that he saw him—where he was coming home late at night, stressed out and pale. Even then, he was getting better. Sometimes, when it rained, he didn't even change almost instantly when he came home. There were days before the row were he'd wash his hands only five or six times a day. "And by the way, who are you? I don't even know your name."

Bill was thrown back, but then he realised that he hadn't introduced himself to Percy. "I'm your brother. My name is Bill."

"Alright, Bill," Percy had a condescending smile on his face. "Would you be so kind as to get out of my house?"

"No, I'm not going to go," Bill didn't recognise Percy anymore. He was another person. "We're talking about this."

Percy shook his head, looking at him with hard cornflower blue eyes. "No, we're not. You're leaving," he hissed. "Now."

"I'm not leaving, Perce, and you can't make me. Mum, Dad, Charlie and I were invited because we're your family," Bill didn't know if it was a last-ditch attempt to salvage any kind of conversation with Percy, or if he was just so emotional that he had a serious lapse in his judgment. "Stop being so bloody selfish. Do you know how our parents were, thinking that you were dead for the past three months? Did you know how miserable that we were without you in the house? No, you don't, Perce, because you live in your head. And in your head, the only person that matters is you."

There was a pregnant pause. Bill darted his eyes to realise that Arthur was standing there, looking white.

When did his father walk up the stairs? And why did he look like that? Like Bill was being an arsehole for trying to get Percy's head out of his own arse? Percy wanted everything his own way, even if it meant everyone else was miserable.

"Can I just ask you one thing?" Percy scoffed. "Do you think that your speech will inspire me to go back to that horrible house of yours? Do you think that telling me that I'm selfish and trying to guilt me is going to work? Do you really think that I want to know anything about the bloke that doesn't bother introducing himself to me and gets off on comparing who I am to your brother? I'm not your Percy. I may look like him and I may sometimes act like him, but I am absolutely not him. You do not own me… and I don't care if we share blood. As far as I'm concerned, you're nothing to me."

 _You're nothing to me._ Bill felt like Percy just slapped him in the face. "Perce, I…" he felt his throat ache. "Why?"

Percy just brushed past Bill and walked over to what he was sure was his room. Bill was left with a disappointed Arthur.

"He just…" Bill didn't know where to start. He remembered Clarence and Lucy? He didn't care about the fact that Ron, Ginny, Fred and George were just dying to see his stupid face again? Why did he have to act like such a prick?

"Why did you have to fight like that?" Arthur asked, looking distressed. "Isn't this situation delicate enough?"

Bill didn't expect this reception. "Dad, he doesn't…" he stammered. "Dad, he doesn't know," he stressed.

"Percy's right, Bill. You can't talk to him like that. You can't force him to accept what happened before. He's not like that anymore. We're trying so hard to get him to accept the idea that he has another family, and I don't want you to ruin our chances," Arthur said sternly, surprising Bill. "You're his older brother. Bloody well act like it and then he'll decide for himself that you are. You can't just tell him that he is and expect him to just change his life because of it."

Bill didn't know how Arthur had come to accept this situation. "Another family?" he repeated. "You can't mean that."

Arthur nodded his head. "I don't think he wants to leave here," he said with a watery smile. "This is his house now too, Bill. I don't think that he wants to know anything about our world. I think this… this is good for him. Your mother and I already discussed this in detail before, but…we think that this is the best alternative. He's not safe in our world anymore."

"He said he'd leave here if he sees Lucy," Bill said, feeling annoyed at how Percy remembered Clarence and Lucy.

Arthur looked delighted. "He remembers Lucy?" he asked, excited. "Does he remember anyone else? Does he…?"

"Clarence. And that's it," Bill said, sounding pitiful. "I don't know why you're so excited about him remembering either of those two. And I don't want to be here when you tell mum that Percy so vividly remembers Lucy," he knew that his mum hated Lucy. She thought that Lucy was just trying to get into Clarence's pants after Gideon's death.

Bill sighed, feeling his chest ache. "He doesn't want to remember, Dad," he was hurt. "How can he not want to know?"

Arthur offered a weak smile back. He looked like he wished Percy would want to come home too, but he'd accepted that maybe this wasn't the best thing for him—or at least that was what he was telling himself. Bill sighed deeply, and then let himself relax into the situation that maybe this was going to help Percy's OCD more than him staying in the Burrow, where all the tiles were wonky, and he spent most of his day washing the walls until they were devoid of colour.

"I failed him," said Arthur and Bill looked up from the floor, startled at Arthur's admission.

"No, Dad," the thought that his father blamed himself for how Percy turned out made him feel sick. "Dad, nobody could've known that Percy was going to be the way that he was. Not even as a kid. We all thought he was just like that. For Merlin's sake, even _Dumbledore_ thought that that was part of his personality and not a mental disorder."

Arthur shook his head, looking like he was about to cry. "Bill, what were Audrey's parents telling you? About Percy?"

Bill felt like he was between a rock and a hard place. If he didn't tell Arthur, he didn't know what was going to happen if he'd discovered that he knew all along. If he told him, it would probably destroy his father. It was like every little new thing he knew about Percy was slowly eating at him. If he knew that Percy was raped, he'd never live it down.

Bill gestured for Arthur to follow him to the end of the hallway, so they were even further away from everyone.

"Dad, if I tell you this, you're going to have to promise that you won't freak out," Bill said, even though he knew that no matter how gently or violently he broke the news, Arthur was going to lose it. He knew that he was going to blame himself. He knew that he was going to wonder what in Merlin's name happened for their relationship to be like this right now.

Arthur didn't look reassured. "What do you mean?" he sounded hostile. "Bill, don't you dare tell me there's another fucking secret about him that I don't know about. At this point, I'm starting to feel like I didn't know my own son at all."

Bill felt something cold and slimy in his stomach. Then something just hit him, and it made him feel his whole-body freeze. "I don't think anyone ever knew Percy," he said, feeling like he, too, was mourning for a person that didn't exist at all. Because everything that Percy did was a personification of his own mental neuroses. Percy had always been a disease more than he was a person. He fit that wizarding mental disorder criteria more than he could fit into a niche in their childhood home. "Dad, I just… everything I can think of about Percy is just related to his stupid bloody obsessive-compulsive disorder or the fact that he was obsessed with working and the Ministry." He didn't really have a personality beyond that.

Arthur opened his mouth to deny this, but the words died on his mouth. "What did you want to tell me about him?"

Then it really hit Bill what he was going to say. He was going to tell his father that Percy was violated in a disgusting, sadistic way and he hadn't known about it for years… and no matter how much they'd talk about it, they'd never know why their Percy never bothered to tell them. If this Percy didn't tell Audrey, how long would this stay a secret for? How long had this already been a secret for? Who could do such a horrible thing to someone like Percy?

"Dad," Bill's voice just a little over a whisper. "Audrey's parents are sure that Percy told Audrey something big. And they think that…they believe that…" he was stammering, unsure of how to get his words out right now.

Bill felt tears running down his cheeks. How was it fair that he was the one that had to tell his father? Why couldn't it be someone else for once? Why did it have to be him?

Taking a deep breath, "They think that Percy was raped." Bill didn't know how he'd managed to get the words out, but he wished that he'd closed his eyes because the look on Arthur's face was absolutely heart-breaking. He looked like he wanted to give up, like he'd rather be tortured by You-Know-Who himself than hear Bill say those things. "Do you think that…?"

"I don't know," Arthur said brokenly, eyes shimmering with wet tears. "He's my son. How could I not be sure?"

As if it was his cue, Percy reappeared beside them, holding a sketchpad tucked under his arm with a palette that was filled with various shades of orangey yellow. He didn't look the least bit concerned. "What are you talking about?"

Arthur cleared his throat, placed his hand on Percy's shoulder and then said, "Let's talk about this together."

Bill didn't miss how uncomfortable Percy was when Arthur held his shoulder.

When they walked inside Percy's room, they noticed that it was absolutely covered in canvases. Bill was thrown back by the blown-up copies of Salvador Dali's paintings (and the only reason Bill knew was that Percy had written that name in huge block letters). Bill didn't even realise that that was a name until he saw a black-and-white photo of him with his ever-twirling moustache. Every photo was taped on the wall with notes added to the side. There was _The First Days of Spring_ : a 1929 portrait that looked about as disturbing as ever. It was chaotic and disoriented, and very un-Percy-like. There was that 1931 portrait, _The Persistence of Memory_ , which included a bunch of melting, rancid clocks. Then there was 1936, a _Soft Construction with Boiled Beans,_ which was about as violent and unsettling as a Bellatrix Lestrange. And last but not least, there was the 1937's _Swans Reflecting Elephants_ , which was a bizarre if not interesting illusion.

There were these horrible photos that didn't make much sense and then there was Percy's canvases of fresh, beautiful coats of oil paint. All three paintings that he was working on were photos of the Burrow, and Bill recognised it instantly. Two were only scraps in progress, and not full-to-life ideas but there was one that was almost complete. This one had the Burrow with leaves in the background. Each leaf detailed to the sharpness of the veins, the thickness of the midrib and the softness of the margins. The strokes were careful and had a sense of magic that he didn't feel like came from Floo powder, wands, or potion bottles. Bill kept staring, enticed, feeling the dirt between his feet and a warmth in his heart that he didn't expect to feel. The trees had a little plumpness to them from the extremely thin edge of a palette knife that Percy was using.

Bill watched the colours unfold from red, orange, pink, yellow, green, blue, indigo and purple all in a soft swoop of a brush across the velvety sky. Bill could almost feel the breeze on his skin. The colours were muted yet vivid, hard but soft. The leaves somehow were wintry, autumn, spring, and summer rolled in one photograph, but it didn't look out of place. There was another part of the painting that hadn't been completed yet, but Bill didn't even realise he'd been staring for the past few minutes. His hands were shaking almost, not sure what he was going to say. There was an open window with what looked almost like a splotch of either dark paint, dried blood or something innocuous. There was an old, cracked vase just outside the Burrow's door with dying white flowers and empty cartons of second-hand, discounted mouldy milk saying _MISSING_.

What Bill wondered was what was omitted from the painting. What was going on inside the Burrow in Percy's head?

Arthur was caught staring too and looked like he was impressed in a way he didn't expect to be. "This is beautiful."

"Thank you," Percy looked surprised, but relaxed at the praise that he'd gotten from his father. Percy had no idea why he had pictures of Salvador Dali's paintings on the walls, and why Bill felt almost uncomfortable staring at the trippy, potion-induced portraits. When Percy caught Bill looking at the copies of Salvador Dali's paintings, he said, "He was a nutter."

Arthur nodded his head. "Well, anyone that paints swans and elephants together can't be all that right in the head."

"Salvador Dali?" Bill asked. Percy nodded his head. "A nutter like you?" he didn't mean to say it like that but oh well.

"No, no, not a nutter like me," Percy rolled his light eyes. "As for the swans and elephants, was… well, his paintings were surrealist. The idea behind that surrealism movement was combining objects, ideas and concepts that do not usually go together into a precise representation of the unconscious mind. The idea of it is to suspend reality into a dream-like state."

Bill nodded his head. "Well, that should help your recurring nightmares," he mumbled. Recurring nightmares they never talked about. "A nutter like what?"

"A nutter like... well..." Percy only flushed but ignored that statement. "How Dali preferred to approach this movement is what he called the paranoiac-critical method," he noticed the blank look on Arthur and Bill's face. "He attempted to induce himself into a delirious, paranoid state by falling asleep with a spoon in his hand. When he fell asleep, the spoon would fall into a mixing bowl he kept on his lap and he'd produce his ideas from his dreams when he is still in a semi-conscious state. He would also stand on his head until almost passing out, or he would stare at an object for hours until he made himself mental."

Bill stared at Percy for a few seconds. "Are you sure you haven't made yourself mental looking at these?" he gestured to Dali's _Soft Construction with Boiled Beans_. "Merlin, how do you fall asleep with this bloody thing in the room?"

Percy shrugged but continued rattling on about Dali like the bastard had written a book about his life. "He was one of the many surrealists that was absolutely obsessed with Sigmund Freud's interpretations of dreams," he explained. "He believed that someone's personality traits, whether it be neurotism, avoidant, obsessive or histrionic, stem from childhood experiences. Dali thoroughly believed in this. He proceeded to insert himself in multiple paintings, playing with ideas of death, decay and the fear of death itself. But he was a very unpleasant, arrogant prick of a man, obsessed with money, masturbation, Hitler, Freud, his cheating wife and believed that he was his own reincarnation of his brother."

Only Percy could say the word _masturbation_ with the same air of nonchalance as he did _money_.

Then there was an opening of the door and Audrey walked in, carrying a tray of teacups. "I'm sorry," she said. The cups were filled to the brim with milky tea—which was a little too dark-coloured for Bill's taste—and there was a container filled with lumps of brown sugar which Bill thought tasted like coal. "Mrs Weasley, Gloria, Stephen and my parents thought to postpone dinner for an hour since you're chatting up here. They're also having a chat downstairs, talking about…well, talking about the differences between the schooling systems I suppose. I just thought to bring you some tea."

Percy was staring at Audrey like she was an angel, and it almost made Bill shudder. He loved a muggle girl. He really did.

"Thank you," Arthur accepted the tray graciously since Percy seemed to have lost his ability to speak.

Percy gestured for Audrey to sit down beside him, and she nodded her head, flushing slightly.

When she sat down beside him, he immediately grabbed her hand without asking where it had been or what she was touching or holding. Her hands were sweaty, but Percy did not seem unnerved by the fact that he was touching another human being's skin. Audrey suddenly looked ten times more beautiful than Bill first saw her.

"What… what did you want to talk about?" Percy pulled both Bill and Arthur out of their thoughts. "At the door, you said that you wanted to talk to me about something. I suppose that it's a delicate subject…" he glared at Bill, who stayed silent.

Arthur sat down beside Percy, looking at him with a soft facial expression. "Percy," he said, his voice strained, in pain.

Audrey moved her hand so that she was holding onto Percy's arm very tightly. His eyes stayed locked on Arthur's face.

"Yes?" Percy looked up, alert, and all the frustration had melted away from his face. "What is it?"

Arthur pulled up his chin and Percy, who was normally disgusted by any form of bodily contact, just stiffened. His eyes widened, as Arthur asked him, very seriously, "You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

Percy's eyes were fixed on Arthur's face. "No, sir," he said, looking a little perturbed and shaky himself.

Arthur looked like he was trying hard to maintain a straight face, as he moved his hands away from Percy's face. "Did someone ever wrong you, Percy?" he asked, his question was vague, but Percy seemed to have picked up on it.

Bill watched Audrey turn into a nice shade of milky white, practically matching all the clean canvases in the room.

"What… what do you mean?" Percy asked, stammering. Bill suddenly found the _Soft Construction with Boiled Beans_ a very engaging painting and he couldn't stop looking at it. He'd rather look at that than seeing Percy look torn.

Arthur cleared his throat. "I think you know what I mean," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Hey," Audrey was squeezing onto his arm, burying her head into his shoulder. "It's okay, Charlie. It's okay."

Percy shook his head, and he kept shaking his head for more than a few seconds at a time. He kept staring at the ground, refusing to meet Arthur's eyes. "Well, I… I didn't know what was happening in the beginning. I suppose it had to have happened when I was unconscious, Mr Weasley," he looked disgusted and there was a moment of silence. Bill was sure that Percy was choosing his words as carefully as possible. But he didn't understand why. Bill thought of all the places that people chose their words carefully: job interviews, talking to people of higher authority than him, and being at the doctors for an embarrassing problem that you didn't want to admit. "Sometimes, I'd wake up in my bed… at least I think it's my bed. I don't particularly remember all that well. And sometimes I'd wake up on the carpet of-of well, I apologise by being brash, but… your bedroom, sir."

"My bedroom?" Arthur looked appalled. Bill was even more repulsed. "It happened in my bedroom?"

Percy closed his eyes. "Yes," he said. "If there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that it happened there. He liked that it happened there. He felt like he was... mocking you and Mrs Weasley."

"Mocking me? And Mrs Weasley?" Arthur reiterated, looking unnerved. "Why did he feel like he was mocking us?"

"Because you'd be downstairs. He never did it when the house was empty," Percy said, his eyes vacant. He was staring at the wall, straight into _Soft Construction with Boiled Beans_ like he was the one that painted it. And the longer he stared at it, the more he talked. "He'd always do it when you were in the house. I'd hear you talking downstairs, about... well, I'm not really sure what. I don't understand those wizarding things anymore, I suppose but I think he felt like he was interested in how powerful it made him feel. He told me that nobody would ever find me, that nobody cared enough to notice that I wasn't there. Not for hours and hours that he spent...defiling me, or for the fourteen bloody years that he..."

He closed his eyes and shook his head, like he was embarrassed by what he just said. "I apologise. That was just what he told me," he stood up from the bed, and Audrey stared at him with a soft expression. She was obviously worried about him. Who wouldn't be? "I'll come downstairs in an hour. I forgot to take my six-hourly shower."

Percy's hairline gleamed with sweat. He opened his cupboard and disappeared with another pressed suit.

Audrey's glittering clutch gleamed in the bright light of the room. She looked back at the _Soft Construction with Boiled Beans_ and shuddered. "That's a horrible painting, isn't it?" she commented, and Bill laughed until he felt tears roll down his cheeks.


	29. A Normal Sunday Roast Part 3

_i'm sorry for the long wait for this chapter. this story has a lot of things happening at once and i was sort of waiting to see where i'd go with it and i have a good enough idea that i want to happen in the next few chapters. this isn't a kind of 'wow, plot twist' type story. it's very slow because it's mostly about Percy's character development. i started writing this story with a very specific goal in mind and it's going the way i want to (in respect to that goal) but has not fully gotten to where it needs to be. hopefully soon!_ **  
**

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Twenty-Nine: A Normal Sunday Roast Part 3

* * *

"Dad?" Bill sounded out as he followed a pale, distraught Arthur staggering out of the room. "Dad, are you…?"

"It happened in my house," Arthur whispered, shaking so much that Bill thought that he was convulsing.

"In my house, Bill, in my house… right under my nose!" Arthur yelled at him and Bill shuddered. "Fourteen years, Bill! Fourteen bloody years…Percy would've been six, Bill. He would've been _SIX!_ " Bill wrapped his arms around his father, who just buried his head into Bill's shoulder and started sobbing. Bill never thought he would ever see his father like this.

The sounds of his pain echoed through the hallways and Bill felt hot tears slide down his own freckled cheeks.

Arthur shook his head in disbelief. "What kind of sick bastard would do that to a six-year-old in his own home?" he asked.

"I don't know, Dad," Bill was shocked as well. He was only a kid himself when it started happening to Percy. He was in his second year of Hogwarts, feeling smug about what he was doing with his life. "I… I just don't know."

Arthur's face hardened. "He did it when we were home, Bill," he reminded him. "Percy never told us about it. Fourteen years and he didn't even bloody hint that something like that could've happened to him… he didn't trust me enough."

Bill felt his heart ache. "Dad, what did you want him to say?" he asked. "It's not like he could bring it up at tea."

"I wish he did," Arthur said, and Bill did too. He wished that Percy at least hinted that something like that had happened to him.

Bill stiffened, as he listened to his father cry like a child that got hurt after falling off his first broomstick. How sick would someone had to be to get off on molesting a six-year-old with the sounds of pleasant conversation bouncing off the walls?

"Come on, Dad," Bill wrapped his arms around Arthur, feeling like he was just watching his father slip and fade away even more than Percy did. He felt the weight of the massive, bloody world on his shoulders, and the thought of Charlie or his mum coming up and seeing Arthur blubber like a toddler made him feel ill. "Please."

Arthur started to choke on the air. "How am I going to tell your mother?" he turned almost blue. "Or the rest of them?"

"I don't know, Dad," Bill didn't even know how he was going to look Charlie straight in the face and tell him. "Hey."

Arthur whimpered like a crup that had been kicked out of the house. "I wish I could take back that row," he said. "I wish."

"I know," Bill paled, feeling his whole body become numb and his cheeks feel hot. He knew that they couldn't keep this to each other forever. Keeping things from each other was what got them into this. All this time, Bill wondered how things would've been so much different if he just told his parents about the first time that Percy had self-harmed. Would things have been better? "But if that happened, do you think that we would've known? Do you think that he would've told us?"

Arthur's silence was as painful as his sobbing. Bill had never seen someone so broken as he was right then.

"I should've known," Arthur said, and he sounded vacant. "It happened in the room that I slept in for twenty years. And I know now? Fourteen years after it first started happening? I slept in the bed at the same time that my six-year-old son had just been molested in it. And Percy knew but never said anything. And as hard as that is, I'm never going to know why he never said anything because of all the brain damage from that bloody spell. Do you have any idea how that's like?"

Bill was silent because what were you supposed to say to that? Knowing that it happened at all was hard, but knowing it happened in a place that they called home for so long made him want to burn the Burrow down. It was never going to be the same again. The house was tainted. He'd always think about what happened there now.

"Dad," Bill felt like he was about to collapse on the floor when he heard a voice. Charlie's. "Are you serious?"

Arthur's face paled so much that he looked like one of Percy's empty canvases. He shook his head. He was in disbelief.

"Arthur, is this true?" Molly's voice was so soft it could be a whisper. "About what you said? About Percy being…?"

Bill didn't want to look back because he knew that Charlie was standing there behind him. But he had a coronary when he heard his mum's voice. His mum, who just heard, in a in a bloody corridor no less, that her child had been molested at the age of six. All Bill could remember was being alone in a room with Percy for hours upon days. He never wanted to talk about it? Not once? Where there a day where he was almost close to talking, but he resigned? What could Bill have done?

He honestly wished Percy would've sent an owl, mentioning the event in lucid details. At least Bill would still know. Anything would be better than this.

There was a moment of silence. Bill felt hot tears slide down his cheeks even though he was so tired of crying. He nodded his head so slowly and watched Charlie's hands tighten into fists. He thought about the twins, Ginny and Ron. Godric.

"Yes," Arthur's voice cracked. Bill didn't know how they were meant to sit down to a roast after this. Bill didn't know if he could eat for another week with how nauseous he felt. Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn't.

How could he talk about it? But how could he not? Bill thought.

"Well, if you can't even say it, how did you expect Percy to, Dad?" Bill asked. His throat hurt. "How do you expect Perce to tell us about it when we're sat there having dinner or just after you've come home from work, dead tired?"

Arthur shook his head. He was sweating profusely through his shirt. "Percy was raped, Mols," he didn't care look at Molly's expression and neither did Bill. As cowardly as it was, it wasn't like Bill needed another thing to make it harder to sleep tonight, alright? This was already frazzling him up enough as it was. "Our baby was defiled in our home. In our room. Multiple times throughout fourteen bloody years… he told Audrey, and her parents figured it out and told Bill."

"We confronted him about it," Bill shook his head. "He remembers it, mum. It's the only thing he really remembers."

Bill flinched because he could hear the contempt in his voice. He didn't want to think about how his parents felt like right now, knowing that his girlfriend's part-veela parents knew about this before they did. And if they didn't know, then they would've stayed in the dark. By this point, Bill felt like he'd been in the dark so long he couldn't adjust to the light.

"You're lying," Charlie said, but as if Bill would lie about something this important. He wouldn't dare, and Charlie knew this deep down, but he was still shocked. You didn't expect to hear this at a bloody dinner party. But he could imagine that was what Percy thought too. When was the best time to tell someone news like this? Especially when it had been years?

"Where is he?" Molly asked, his hands shaking. "I want to talk to him… _now_."

Before Bill could say that Percy was taking a shower, she pushed past Arthur and walked straight into the room. Percy was sat on the bed. He had his violet-coloured trousers on, which somehow did not make him look like an utter poof. But that was probably because Bill was too busy looking at the fact that Percy did not just 'self-harm'. He had absolutely mutilated his skin down to the bloody bone. His cuts were so deep that it was hard for Bill to believe that Percy, who refused to drink milk because it was contaminated, could possibly do something so unclean and drastic. Percy flushed almost immediately because he was half-naked. He had doused his arm in rubbing alcohol and was wrapping it with bandages.

"I did not realise the door was open," Percy said casually. "My apologies."

The first emotion that Bill felt when he saw that was shock. The next? He genuinely felt like giving up. What could he do to help Percy? Percy was always going to be ill, no matter what they did. Percy was a completely different person. Not just from the memory charm... they didn't even know who Percy was when he'd actually had his memories!

Arthur looked like he'd snapped. "It's so nice to know about that now too," he said in a mixture of hurt and anger. "Are there anymore secrets you want to tell us about, Percival?" he hissed coldly.

Bill felt angry too—mostly to himself, and he knew displacing that anger to Percy wasn't going to help anyone.

Percy just stared at him dumbfounded. "I don't understand, Mr Weasley," he said in all honesty. "I was under the impression that you were aware of my self-harm. I don't particularly remember the details of it myself. I was actually hoping you could shed some light on it," he said, tying his bandage together. Bill was focused on the fact that he realised that the slashes on his skin spelled words. Words like _GIT, PRAT_ and _WORTHLESS_.

Bill didn't know what must be going through Percy's mind before when he carved out letters. There was also the fact that this must've taken hours.

"Self-harm?" Arthur balked. "Percy, you've split your skin so far apart it's not even healing." Bill knew that tone. Arthur sounded like he was giving up, like he'd realised that no matter what, he was never going to know or help Percy.

Bill shuddered at the thought, but he felt like giving up too. It felt like Percy was too far gone.

"May I ask you what's the point of telling me this?" Percy asked acerbically. Bill found it difficult because he didn't fault Percy for being so angry at Arthur accusing him, but he couldn't fault Arthur because he was just so tired of trying.

Arthur stepped back. "I'm sorry, Perce," he sounded like he meant it. "But I don't know what I can do for you anymore."

Percy's eyes hardened. "Is that your purpose, Mr Weasley? Knowing what to do for me?" he asked coldly.

They'd been telling him for ages that this Percy was nothing like the Percy that they had before. But Bill didn't notice right then just how different these two were, but at the same time, how alike they were to each other.

Well, this Percy was apparently truthful to an extent that theirs had not been. Some part of Bill was sure that his old Percy liked to draw up little drawings in his spare time but resigned himself to a career in the Ministry because of his expectations—and bizarrely enough, the family's expectation. The only reason Percy was so calm right now telling them was because he didn't know how much it used to mean to him. He had absolutely no improbable standards. He felt like he'd lost his intelligence, and that meant that he could do whatever _he_ wanted instead of what people expected him to do.

Bill was sure that under all that pride and insecurity, this Percy was buried somewhere deep his Percy, the one that built a new person for himself through his own unrealistic expectations and standards. Maybe _this_ was who he was all along.

"I'm your father," Arthur said weakly, looking at him with soft eyes. "I should be able to—"

"You're my father," Percy cut him off. "Not my psychiatrist. I'm doing much better than I was." He then looked over at his chest, which was covered in so many angry cuts. "And if you don't believe in me, that's your loss, Mr Weasley."

With teary eyes, Arthur inched forward and wrapped his arms around him, burying his head into his Percy's shoulder.

Arthur stayed quiet, because what did you say to that? "I…" his face softened. "I'm proud of you, Percy."

"You're doing really well," Bill said. He was sure that there was a time where Percy would've moved mountains just to hear his father say those words, but this Percy didn't seem to care at all. He didn't know just how hard it was for him to get his father's recognition before this. Arthur had always been proud, Bill was sure, but he never quite said it out loud like this before.

He wished his old Percy would be there for a second, because he had a feeling that he knew how much this would've meant for him.

"I…" Arthur cleared his throat. "I want someone to stay here with you. Either Bill or Charlie," he said. "It's not safe because of the war."

Percy looked over at Charlie and Bill but then shook his head. "If someone has to be here, I'd prefer it not be them," He picked up his sketchbook and instantly, Bill recognised the picture he drew of the twins. "I'll accept Gred and Forge."

"You mean Fred and George?" Bill asked incredulously. Percy flushed then nodded. "Perce, they'll drive you crazy and they have school to boot. Besides, they don't know how to protect anyone—they can barely protect themselves!"

"That's my decision and that's final," Percy said hotly. "It can't all be how you all want it. I've had to accommodate enough for you lot and you haven't done a single thing in return, besides question my decisions. I'm starting to see whymy old self went mental." Alright, maybe Bill deserved that.

"Are you sure you want Fred and George?" Charlie reiterated, looking dumbfounded. "Perce, you don't even like them. "

"Well, I suppose I'll just stay 'unprotected'," Percy huffed, refusing to listen to any rationale. That was their old Percy right there. "You are not staying here."

Before Arthur could say anything about it, Audrey walked in and called them downstairs for dinner.

Bill really started to notice just how well Percy was doing when he didn't go over to wash his hands or take another bath after Arthur just hugged him. There were times where he was so bad off that his six-hourly showers were something more of hourly showers. It was particularly bad when it was winter because after the morning showers, Percy forced himself to bath in cold water. At those holiday months, Bill always tried to make his showers as short as possible so that Percy would have enough hot water for the rest of the day. Last year, by the time that it was Christmas dinner, Percy was shivering next to the fire and refused to eat anything because he was afraid that he was going to come down with something.

Percy was more afraid of getting sick than he was probably afraid of dying. He wore three layers of clothes just to wear the jumper that he'd washed the colour out from, and he hadn't enjoyed a holiday in the two decades that he'd been alive in.

It was almost like the holidays were one of those things that everyone else was allowed to enjoy except for him.

Bill could vaguely remember finding Percy sat by the fridge, staring at a bowl of leftover trifle, looking like he wanted to cry. Bill didn't know how that felt like: to want something that everyone else could have, but you couldn't because the second that you did, you were going to regret it. And it was because of some illogical reasoning your mind cooked up. Percy had convinced everyone he hated any form of dairy. Bill could very vividly remember one summer holiday where Charlie bought back sweets from Romania and Percy ate some, but when he discovered there was milk powder (a very scant amount mind you), he refused to talk to him for the whole summer. He spent the whole week being shattered. How could they think that that was just part of his personality before?

Right now, he was sitting in the middle of the kitchen with the muggles and his family. They were eating roast lamb, which was one of Percy's favourites. They were serving both boiled and roast potatoes, with enough vegetables to start a farm. The Yorkshire puddings and gravy weren't homemade. Bill felt relaxed enough to eat when he saw Percy pilling food on his plate and eating like a regular human being without having to ask if there was any butter in the lamb or if some milk made it to the gravy by accident. Nobody could understand how much of a big deal this was. On top of that, Percy just talked about some of the most heart-wrenching event in his life just an hour ago, but he was still having a good night!

His parents seemed to agree too, because after the first fifteen minutes of being tense and unnatural, they all seemed relaxed enough to eat.

Bill nearly dropped his fork when Audrey fed Percy something off her plate that she wanted him to taste. Bill had never even thought he'd see Percy eat something off someone's plate, especially food that had been touching.

They didn't really talk when they were eating, and afterwards, they didn't talk either. They were drinking tea afterwards and Percy sat on the couch, cuddling up next to Audrey. A few minutes later, he was asleep in the most uncomfortable looking suit possible, but he looked pretty happy with himself. Audrey fell asleep too, even though you probably shouldn't be falling asleep when you had all that makeup on your face. Gloria didn't even feel like waking them up so that they could have some of that beautiful sticky toffee puddings that Audrey's parents bought over to eat after dinner.

By the time that they left afterwards, Bill had a sinking feeling in his stomach. They had such a great evening, but it just... he didn't want it to be in these conditions.

"He's really happy there," was the first thing that Bill said when he walked into Grimmauld Place. It felt eerie and cold. He felt a chill up his spine, even though the whole house felt empty. "He's actually getting better."

"Yeah, he is," Charlie nodded his head. "I didn't know how bad he was to start but… he…"

"I don't know what to say," Molly didn't look like she knew how she felt about it either. "They're his new family."

Arthur placed a hand on his wife's shoulder and squeezed it. "I know, honey," he said softly. "But that's a good thing, you know? It means that Percy has two families that care for him instead of one. It means he has more people that are caring for him and making sure that he gets what he needs." Bill knew that his father was trying really hard as well, but everyone in the house knew that they would still prefer it that Percy found what he needed without the Shephard's.

"Why doesn't it feel that way?" Molly asked softly, looking broken. "Why does it feel like I did something wrong?"

"Nobody could've predicted what would've happened to Percy," Bill said softly, and as if on cue, someone opened the lights. Before Bill had a chance to curse them out, he noticed that Ron, Ginny, Fred and George were standing there with wide eyes and serious expressions. They obviously hadn't had a chance to see him yet. They were so out of the loop that even Bill felt bad for them.

"And that is…?" Fred asked, looking over at them with a hardened expression. "Does anyone want to enlighten us?"

"You wouldn't want to know," Charlie said softly. "Trust me," he must've known that wouldn't cut it.

"You do know that Percy is our brother too, right?" Ginny challenged. "You can't protect us forever!"

Bill found it comical that they thought that they were too young to know. It happened to Percy when he was six for Merlin's sake. Did anyone think to brief him about it? About how if something like that happened to him, he should tell someone? By the time he'd probably known something was really wrong, he didn't know how to tell people.

And could you really blame that six-year-old kid for not telling anyone? And if Percy never lost his memories, he probably wouldn't tell them. The only reason he told them now was because he was getting better. He was living in a different world, detached from all the bad things that he had experienced before. No wonder he didn't want to come back. He couldn't remember anything that was good enough to want to come back to.

The longer they stayed in Grimmauld Place, they longer that he didn't want to go back to the Burrow.

"Gin, come here," Bill bought Ginny close to him. She was still a baby to him. "I…I wish you didn't have to hear this from me. I wish you didn't have to hear it at all, but you're right. We can't protect you forever, especially with what happened your first year. You deserve to know." He looked up at his baby brothers. "All of you deserve to know."

Ron, Fred and George inched in closer to Bill. He wished that he didn't have to be the one to say it, but Charlie was right. If Arthur couldn't say it, if Bill couldn't say it out loud, then why did they ever expect Percy to be able to do the same?

"You remember when Penelope said that she thought that the healer labelled Percy as PTSD because of something from his childhood?" they nodded their heads. Bill had never seen the twins more serious than this, but they had to know that he was going to tell them something really horrific. "Percy was raped. It started happening when he was six and it hadn't stopped happening since then. And apparently, the person that did this did it in the Burrow, when everyone was at home. I don't think he wants to tell us who it is yet. I don't think he's ready enough, but... I think it's someone we know and someone we trust because even this Percy doesn't feel comfortable enough to let us know." Godric, what a sadistic bastard. He thought the worst thing Bill could think of was Death Eaters, but he couldn't think of a single person that would do this to someone that was so close to him.

He watched his younger siblings turned pale as sheets. It was like Bill was telling them a horror story. If only it wasn't true.

"What kind of bloody monster does that to a little kid?" Ron looked eerily pale. "Godric, no wonder Percy's so mental."

Fred shook his head. "He never…" Bill nodded his head. He knew what Fred was thinking. "He didn't tell anyone?"

Bill cleared his throat. "I think he only told us because he doesn't know what we mean to him. I don't think he would've told us if he remembered who we were," he admitted. Their old Percy wouldn't tell them this particularly because they'd never see him the same way again. Bill didn't think he could ever causally talk to Percy about anything without noticing every single word that he was saying, and this Percy seemed to be a lot more forgiving than theirs ever had been.

George was in disbelief. "You mean you think that if Percy didn't lose his memories, he wouldn't have told us?"

"George, he had fourteen years to tell us," Bill reminded him. "Did he even suggest that something like this might be going on to anyone? He never even told anyone that the reason he was staying up at night was because he was having nightmares in the first place, much less what they were about. But could you really blame him? Perce was the victim. I don't know if he ever came close to telling anyone, but if he did, he must have some really strong reasons because he talked himself out of every single one."

Bill didn't know if they'd ever really know why Percy never told them. But he noticed that Percy was starting to remember.

They didn't tell him that they were twins, or what their names were, but Percy had a good stab in the dark. He didn't even know he had so many siblings last time that Arthur and Molly saw him, so he had to be starting to remember.

Bill didn't realise that his parents were still standing there, listening to him tell their youngest children all this sombre news.

"Mum, Dad… you should let Fred and George go," Charlie broke the silence. Bill didn't know how his parents would think about that. They were starting school in literally two days. They were only fifth years and hadn't even gotten the right training to defend anyone, but Bill was sure they at least knew how to alert the rest of the lot if anything went wrong. "Mum, they're burning down muggle houses. Percy doesn't even want to learn how to pick up a wand, and they're really unprotected. He's refusing both Bill and I, and he asked specifically for…well, those two clowns."

"He asked for us?" Fred looked dumbfounded. "Are you sure he asked for us?"

Bill saw his parents' defences crumbling. After an hour of Bill and Charlie vouching for the twins, he was sure that they'd be agreeing to it. Besides, did they really think that Fred and George were going to excel in their O.W.L year? Bill shook his head, and smirked, "No, he actually asked for Gred and Forge, but I suppose you're the next best thing."


	30. I Found the Medicine Cabinet

**Muggle Me**  
Chapter Thirty: I Found the Medicine Cabinet

* * *

Clement Charlie Jones was lying in his bed at four in the morning. He could imagine that if he wanted to, he'd be great at Dali's paranoid-critical method. He was curled up in his stiff, starchy sheets, taking in the smell of Gloria's fabric softener.

He stared at _The Persistence of Memory_. It mocked him. You'd think your memory melted away with time? Clearly, Salvador Dali had never had six months of a crippling amnesia to which just happened to resolve itself during the night?

How were you supposed to cope when you woke up to realise that you were a prat that nobody liked, including your own parents!

It was a kind of murky depressing morning that were probably made out of nightmares. Today was a day that seventeen-year-old Clement Charlie Jones had just wanted the school day to be over with, so that he could have a Hitchcock film marathon with his girlfriend tonight. They were supposed to share this gigantic tub of this ice-cream—dairy-free so that it wouldn't give Clement heart palpitations. Meanwhile, twenty-year-old Percy Weasley felt like he wanted to tear his heart out of his chest because he couldn't believe that Clement dared to tell his parents about what happened to him! Could you be any dafter? Why should Molly and Arthur know about something that happened when he was six? Did they want to know about how he was getting on in the womb too by any chance? Godric, and Percy was absolutely certain, that beyond the obsessive-compulsive disorder and nightmares, he'd gotten a great big hold of it. In fact, Percy was sure that he was now well enough to say that he didn't have any problem to begin with! He washed it all away. He was absolutely fine, pottering along on his own, and he hadn't even thought about it in years until Clement dug it up with his muggle shovel.

Clement thought that he'd been dealing with the violent urges well. It was laughable. Because what he'd felt then was absolutely nothing.

Right now, twenty-year-old Percy Weasley wanted to stab himself with Clement's palette knife until he bled and died on the floor. Sat there in the cold, dark room, Clement had decided that he was very, very afraid of Percy Weasley.

He didn't know how Percy even made it to twenty without suddenly collapsing into an immediate death. Images of grotesque red were all that Clement could think about. He didn't know how badly Percy was off to have made his self-harm wounds so deep. He remembered that the pain from splitting his skin to the bloody bone was nowhere near comparable to the pain of what happened. How mental was that? In fact, Percy also didn't even know how he'd made it thus far, which was hilarious because he also hated it when people thought that there was something wrong with him. How could someone believe that they were so stable and in the same breath, wished they would just die off? As if it was a very normal thing for a twenty-year-old to suddenly bleed out to death in a two-hour-bath. He had to have a minimum of a two-hour bath because if he didn't, then the whole Ministry would collapse and You-Know-Who would return to wreck vengeance on him.

Clement closed his eyes. He remembered that his mum, Molly Jane Weasley, taught Percy how to sew when he was a child. To think that he'd used that experience solely to try to knit wounds together was appalling. He remembered Percy drinking homemade, long-standing pain potions as avidly as he chugged down coffee cups. He was so nauseous from the pain potions that he was too anxious to contemplate going on with the day, and the anxiety made him feel even queasier. Clement also felt like he'd suddenly put on ten stones in his sleep. He was at his highest weight yet and looked nearly normal!

No wonder Percy was thinner than Clement. With a pathological fear of dairy and always feeling ill, what did you eat? In fact, Percy had been almost emaciated, but he tried to cover it by wearing more layers than a Photoshop image.

Deep down, they both knew that twenty-year-old Percy Weasley was terrified because all he could think about was what had happened fourteen years ago. He vividly remembered waking up with his head heavy and crying in the middle of the night, with nobody to listen to him. He remembered crawling into his mum's bed but her telling him off because she just got Ron and Ginny to sleep and he was making a lot of noise. With the way that she'd acted that night—and the memory was so raw and real, it felt like it almost as if it was unfeasible for a six-year-old to want his mum. Whenever his father came back home, he was too tired to listen to him. If Clement closed his eyes now, he could almost feel how much his body hurt when he'd put his clothes on and crying alone in his bedroom because he didn't really want to be a bother like baby Ginny, little Ron and the terrible twins. He remembered the distinctive shades of violent purple-blue-black on his skin that Clement would not be able to reproduce on his palette if he tried. Days after, Percy remembered walking downstairs to get an ice pack for his sore bottom. Charlie did when he fell off the broom, so it had to help him!

He also recalled, very intensely, that he'd been told off that night by Molly because he spilled ice-cream all over the floor and woke the whole house up. "Are you that desperate for ice-cream, Percival?" Molly asked. "Clean it up!"

 _Well, I've been cleaning ever since, haven't I?_ Clement thought, feeling disgusted at the thought of all the liquified dairy.

Clement felt frustrated. Percy used to wash his hands to the point where his skin sloughed off, and in evening, when he couldn't distract himself with his chain-smoking, he butchered his skin for fourteen years without anyone noticing. How was he supposed to deal with that without thinking that the whole world was black and bleak?

 _This is your fault_ , was all that Percy thought about. _I wasn't thinking about this at all. I had my work. What have you done?_

 _I'm sorry_ , Clement couldn't stop thinking about little Percy. _I didn't know it was this bad. I… I thought I knew everything._

Clement had always believed that his fear of dairy was because it was contaminant. Each pot of yoghurt was strewn with more bacteria than a rotten corpse six feet under. But Percy could remember seeing the swirl of frothy white on the floor, and the pain that he felt in his arms when he was cleaning that night. He cleaned the floors, the whole kitchen and then went to scrub his body. This was how it started. "I hate you; I hate you; I hate you!" Percy could remember saying when he threw the ice-cream in the bin, disgusted at himself for even touching it. "This is all your fault." His mum had scoffed at him and then left, because why would she care about any problem he once he spilled her precious bloody ice-cream? Clement felt for scared little six-year-old Percy. How could they not tell that something was wrong with him? He felt so sad and broken. Percy genuinely felt like his mum didn't care about what happened. He didn't know if his father would care either. He was afraid of being yelled at for misinterpreting the situation. He was a smart little boy after all, wasn't he? If someone that was older than him and more experienced was doing this to him, it meant that he deserved it, right? Besides, everyone thought that Percy was almost as smart as Charlie, and Charlie was going to go to his first year of Hogwarts!

 _Percy, I'm so sorry_ , Clement tried to cajole Percy. Clement thought that he knew everything, but he was sorely mistaken. He had just scratched the surface of all the unholy things that had been done to him. Therapy sounded like a laughable thought almost. _It's going to be alright_.

 _No, it's not, you daft twittering hippie!_ Percy cried out in desperation. _Do you honestly believe that now that you remember everything?_

The memories hit him over the head like a Bludger barrelling straight at him. Clement. He had a headache that was so bad that he was sure couldn't be relieved by some of the oxycodone tablets that he still had leftover. As he sat there in the still darkness, Clement felt the disgusting, cold sweat pouring off his body. Percy was screaming at him to get up and take a shower now, or the whole world was about to become undone. But Clement was quiet, and just looked at the ceiling.

His alarm clock went off, but Clement sunk in his bed. A few minutes after, he turned his alarm off and tried to extract his lumbering body from his bed, which was a particularly difficult task.

For the first time in his whole life, Clement didn't even want to shower, but he had to or else he might have a panic attack at some point today. He washed his hands to the point where they were started to look a little worn. He didn't wear his new tweed jacket. In fact, he had searched for the ugliest pair of black trousers he had, put on a slim-fitting white shirt and then a yellow-and-purple sweater vest. Clement coiffed his carroty hair back, and thought he looked pretty wonderful for someone that was having an identity crisis. He then grabbed his rucksack, threw it over his back and walked downstairs.

Gloria pushed over a plate of bacon and eggs to him, which made him feel ill. Clement sat down, picking at his plate.

"Honestly, you'd think with the way that she's talking that she's working with the prime minister!" Gloria said, already having have eaten most of a piece of toast. Stephen nodded his head avidly, obviously not listening to a word that she was saying. She took a sip of her tea, and then smiled at Clement. "Good morning, love. Have you slept well? You look…well…um, let's just say I've seen you look better. It almost like you've been getting makeup lessons from Audrey!"

Clement would usually remind his mum that he thought Audrey looked beautiful even with more paint on her face than he had on his canvas.

"I suppose," Clement replied. He felt like he'd just woke up from a coma with all the rubbish that he'd managed to remember last night. He was eying the knife on the counter. Was this how it was always like? "I…thank you for breakfast."

He pushed around the eggs on his plate. You'd think he'd actually eat a little now that he'd thanked her for breakfast?

"Um… Charlie? Are you alright?" Gloria grabbed his hand and squeezed it a little, and on the inside, he was already crumbling because he didn't want to wash his hands anymore. He was so sick of washing his hands, so sick of hearing all the thoughts in his head, so sick. How did Percy stand this? How could he feel like this for twenty whole years? It felt like every breath he took was an effort. "Are you ill? You aren't eating your breakfast… and you look a little off-colour!"

Off-colour? Clement wanted to laugh. He had a haemoglobin that was lower than people that were actively bleeding!

"I don't feel well," Clement said softly, because he didn't want to tell his new shiny parents that he remembered everything. They were both about to go off to their jobs and seemed to be in good spirits. He didn't want to ruin their day. "Um… uh—my throat hurts and I've got a stuffy nose," what a lie but he felt like he really did come down with a cold.

Gloria looked at him suspiciously. "You don't look as if you've had a cold," she said. "Is this about something else?"

Clement shook his head, letting a strand of his ginger hair fall in front of his big blue eyes. "I'm allowed to get sick."

"I know you're allowed to be ill, Charlie," Gloria said. "But I…I just want to make sure that it's not _that_ kind of sick."

There was a moment of silence between them and Clement just felt so fed up. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked.

Stephen actually put down his newspaper and stared at him with a really confused and worried expression. "What's wrong?" he asked, but Clement didn't reply to him. "Honestly, Charlie, you were just fine yesterday. Did something happen overnight? You did sleep last night, didn't you?" the way he said that made Clement felt like a child.

Clement put down his fork. "Fine, I'll go to school," he said. "Is that what you want me to say?"

There was a moment of silence between them. They were staring at him like he was a different person… and he was. Maybe he wasn't fully Percy, but he was getting there.

"Well… um… I'll reschedule your therapy session for tomorrow," said Stephen, and he said it in a way that made Clement feel like his therapy sessions were revived him. Like they were like oxygen to a bloke that had obliterated his lungs with smoke. Well, with the way he kept on smoking, it was amazing that he didn't have a cough yet. Clement thought that _he_ smoked a lot, but Percy was a bloody chimney. He could clear a pack of the stuff faster than Judy talked.

What good would therapy do anyway? Did they think an emergency therapy session was going to help sort him out?

Clement cocked his head to one side. "Can I have the keys after?" he asked softly. "Just for a little drive."

"So, you can go buy more cigarettes after? You think that'll make your runny nose any better? Taking in enough nicotine to clog all your arteries?" Stephen asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Clement shook his head, but he knew that at some point today, he was most definitely going to buy cigarettes. He would probably still smoke if he came down to the hospital with a double pneumonia. He supposed that in the case of what was more fatal, he supposed that cutting himself to bits and pieces might kill him faster than the smoking would. He was already barely holding on as it was. The surgeons were mystified by him and was wondering what was keeping all the thin pieces of flesh together.

Clement bit his cheek because he was ready to cry. "Fine," he said carefully. "I don't want it."

"Here," Stephen sighed deeply and threw the spare pair of keys at him. Clement didn't have a licence yet because he'd failed his written exam about a thousand times. However, Stephen didn't seem to care about this since they both knew that Clement could drive particularly well. He supposed that he wasn't exactly crossing boarders or driving like a lunatic, so why did it matter if he didn't have a real licence? "There's no need for you to be so dramatic, Charlie. It's just a pair of keys! And you're not six anymore."

Clement stayed quiet, but his inner Percy huffed and wanted to storm upstairs. "I apologise," he said stiffly.

Stephen didn't reply to this. Clement wished he could retract his apology. Why should he apologise?

"Well, your brothers are going to be here at noon," Stephen mumbled. "I would welcome them myself, but I suppose since you'll be here, there's no need. You can show them where to sleep," he gestured towards the couch. "And I've heard from Molly and Arthur that those two cause a bit of trouble. So let them know that if I find one misplaced picture frame, Charlie, I swear to God…"

"I'll make sure that everything is alright," Clement was sure that Stephen was joking. He didn't know how two people were supposed to fit on that couch. Gloria was just about to leave the house but leaned down to kiss his cheek.

Was that all Stephen cared about? Bloody picture frames? What about him? Clement—Percy—um…God, he was unravelling.

"I hope you're actually alright," Gloria rubbed his shoulder. He kept his jaw clenched because all he wanted to do was set his skin on fire. His personality was about as animated as a cardboard box. Clement tried to push away all the Percy memories, but they came back with a walloping vengeance. How could he be Clement _and_ Percy at the same time? "Charlie, you do know that whatever is on your mind… you can tell us about it, can't you?"

Clement nodded his head, but he stayed mute. He felt tears burning into his eyes. "I know," he said softly.

When Stephen passed him, he looked down at him and offered him an uncertain smile. Clement returned it.

After they left, Clement just climbed upstairs and laid down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. After about five minutes of staying like this, he walked over to Gloria and Stephen's room. He felt so numb, but he was also in so much pain.

He just couldn't help himself. He opened the pill cabinet and found the oxycodone pills that they'd been giving him. They'd been tapering him off slowly, and he barely had them anymore but there was still a lot left over in the bottle. He took them sometimes when he felt the pain getting bad at night—after all, his wounds were not exactly healing. They were still as gaping and big as the big black hole inside of him. Clement opened the bottle, staring at the beautiful shiny little pills. He poured the rest of the pills in his hands. He felt the pain gnawing in his chest as he felt hot tears burning down his cheeks. If he took them now, he didn't have to feel like this ever again. He could just…

Clement closed his eyes, imagining Dr Bareham staring at him with those clear eyes. As if he was expecting better of him.

Well, he could just sod off, couldn't he? Did he have to go home and deal with the horrible thoughts thrashing in his head?

He didn't even know who he was for God's sake! Percy wanted to disappear into the earth, because he couldn't face his parents after what he'd said. He'd been thinking about the things he'd said to them since and it was giving him palpitations at night. How dare he even _imply_ to his parents what Clarence did, much less give them lucid details about how it happened in their bedroom? They'd never be able to sleep there now! How dare he install a lifetime of guilt just because he thought that he didn't really remember them? He acted like they had no feelings whatsoever! Percy remembered the time just after the wedding where Clarence wrapped his scarf around Percy and choked him when he threatened that he'd tell everyone about what he was doing to him. Meanwhile, he heard his mum yelling from downstairs. She asked him if he wanted a banoffee pie or tart for pudding. This felt much worse than _that_ somehow. Because Clement didn't know if Audrey or the Shephard's even wanted him anymore if they knew how he was really like. And deep down, he knew that he was Percival Ignatius Weasley, but he just didn't…

He didn't want to be Percy, alright? It was much easier being anyone else. Anyone else but that git that everyone hated.

Nobody would have to know about it but he couldn't make it through the day without having a breakdown of epic proportions. Clement couldn't keep it to himself for an hour, much less have it as a lifelong secret. What happened to him?

Besides, this was so stupid anyway! What good was remembering his past life going to do him now? Clement didn't even know if he had a job anymore after what happened. And if he didn't have a job, did that mean that he spent the last twenty years working his arse off just to lose it because he'd been attacked? Because he'd lost his memories? Did that justify the pain that he had from those sleepless nights and the euphoric satisfaction he had gotten when he'd received his O.W.L results? A couple of months away from the wizarding world and he bet that he was nobody now. Useless. Faceless. His hard work was crumbling right before his very eyes. The mask that he'd perfected was cracking. The façade was melting away. Thinking about it made Clement tremble. And if he stayed here in the muggle world, did he really think that he could make it by selling his mediocre finger-paintings as real art? And even if he went through all that therapy, how was he supposed to forget the feeling of Clarence's hand roaming around him when he was too drugged on potions to fight back?

Clement couldn't talk to his parents about any of that! That was a joke. What would that accomplish other than make them feel even worse? And what if they thought that he was over-exaggerating everything? If they wrote him off, he didn't think that he'd be able to live with himself. He'd rather die the most horrible death than live in a reality like that.

And why should anyone believe him? His mum's eyes practically dazzled every time that she looked at Clarence.

The one time Clarence had been admitted to the hospital was in 1992 for a valve problem. Percy remembered her crying for weeks. She'd barely been eating, sleeping and worst of all, she'd barely been showering. He used to stay away, feeling anxious because his mum smelled like she'd just rolled in a pile of dragon dung. Percy couldn't take it anymore. He yelled at her after and threw a temper tantrum that ended up with him being sent to his room because he was an unsympathetic bastard. Unsympathetic! He'd tried to cope with _that_ for weeks and he was unsympathetic…!

Clement found more pills stacked behind. With the pills already in his hand, he popped another bottle. This one was full.

It would be so easy, Clement thought. And he didn't have to think about anything ever again. He could just…

"I'm sorry," he whispered to himself. "I can't do it anymore," he meant every single word that left his mouth.

Clement stared down at the pills, like they were about to make his dreams come true. He was shaking. Clement didn't want to die like this. In the lavatory of his new family's bedroom, dressed in these rags that he hated. But he genuinely couldn't live another second. He was at his breaking point and Clement couldn't take another self-depreciating thought or any more pain. All he wanted was his mind to stop racing so much. How many antidepressants was he taking? How many mood stabilisers? How much Valium did he need just so he could sleep at night? _WHY_ was he still like this?

All he did was make everyone else's life miserable. It wasn't enough to wreck one family, but he had to wreck _TWO!_

Did you think that Gloria enjoyed wrapping him in bandages at five in the morning every day? Did you think Stephen wanted to accompany him on every therapy session? Did you think that Arthur and Molly enjoyed finding out all these secrets that he kept hidden away? His mum and dad looked like they barely slept! Barely ate! And God knew what he'd done to poor Audrey and her family…

As tears rolled down his cheeks, Clement popped open the second bottle. He was just going to have to take these as quick as possible. And he'd have to die, because he couldn't just wake up and throw these up. There was no way that—

Then he heard a sound of a squeaky-something, and looked up to see Stephen standing there, looking shocked.

Clement was so surprised that he dropped all the pills in his hand and the bottle. The scattered all over the lavatory floor. It felt like a million little pills were everywhere, and it wasn't like he was going to convince Stephen that he just had a lot of pain. At his worst, Clement took a pill and a half. This was… um… significantly more than that, and he didn't know how to lie his way out of this one. Clement was frozen, and all he could do was stare, still silently crying in his parents' lavatory.

The look on Stephen's face was so bad that Clement wished that he didn't spend so much time thinking about this. He could just be over by now, couldn't he? And he wouldn't have to see Stephen's face of complete and utter…

"Hey!" Fred's voice boomed through the room, as he walked towards them with an excited expression on his face. "I know we're a few hours early—like six—but we were already awake, so we just decided to stop by! We were looking for you everywhere. Well, this is a posh looking lav, isn't it? I'm sure Perce is thrilled and—…um…" Fred mumbled.

George looked at Clement like Audrey looked at a new makeup set. He let out a breath that he'd been holding in and was just about to swoop in to hug him when he realised how tense everything was. Then they both stiffened.

Stephen must've figured out that they didn't know what the pills were. They didn't know what Clement had almost done.

"Is everything okay?" George decided to say after a few moments of silence.

Stephen had no colour in his face whatsoever, and he was biting down on his lip so hard he was drawing blood. Clement looked over at Fred and George and they were quiet, with unmoving expressions. Percy was shocked to see them looking like that. He didn't even know that those two could be serious to begin with! But he supposed they had to have learned, what with… believing that he was dead and everything. With a knotted feeling in his stomach, Clement tensed.

Stephen's voice was wobbly when he spoke. "Charlie… were you going to kill yourself?"

Clement just stared at him, feeling like the most selfish person in the world. Just a few seconds ago, he was convinced that this would be the best possible solution for everyone and now, looking at Stephen's face, he felt like he was an attention-seeking scroundel. He turned to look at Fred and George and felt even worse, because they were as pale as Harry's owl was.

"I'm sorry," Clement said in a very low voice. "But-but it mightn't have worked if I really went through with it."

Clement knew that if Stephen hadn't been there, he would've. He was very much Clement right in this second, not stern-faced Percy who just wanted to ignore it ever happened and end up having a row with Stephen just so he didn't have to confront how he felt anymore. Clement then looked down at the pills that he was still very willingly about to take.

He probably would've emptied the cabinet just to make sure. And then he would probably in a daze, walk to the bathroom, and start slicing up his skin until he bled out into the bath. But at least he wouldn't have died in pain?

"It mightn't have worked!" Stephen reiterated Clement's words in disbelief. "Charlie, God, what would I…?"

Stephen shook his head. "If I lose you, I wouldn't know what to…" he sounded absolutely crushed.

"Dad, I'm sorry," Clement bit down his lower lip, trying not to look at Fred and George who looked like strangers with their solemn facial expressions. "I…I just couldn't do it anymore," he admitted, rubbing the tears out of his face.

"Dad?" Fred and George were whispering amongst another. A part of him felt horrible, but Stephen was his father.

Stephen inched in a little closer, wrapping his arms around Clement and burying his head into his shoulder.

When he felt the wetness from Stephen's tears, Clement felt uncomfortable. He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen Stephen cry—had he ever seen Stephen cry? There had been so much tension the last few therapy sessions. There were always tears everywhere. He looked up at Fred and George's faces as if he was expecting them to help him figure out what to do, but they were silent and sombre.

"Do you take any of them? Do you do anything else?" asked Stephen, and Clement just stiffened and said a soft 'No'. "Oh God, if I hadn't forgotten my fucking keys, then…" he then inched backwards and cupped Clement's face.

"I apologise," Clement repeated, feeling his throat close up. "Profusely. I apologise profusely and I—"

Stephen's face was serious. "Did you…?" he took a deep breath. "Did you cut yourself?"

"No, I didn't," Clement admitted, but Stephen didn't look very happy with that. "Not yet at the very least."

"Show me," Stephen demanded. Clement understood why Stephen didn't trust him… and he didn't blame him.

He nodded his head. "Alright," Clement looked over at Fred and George. What should he tell them? The thought of them seeing made him feel anxious. They knew too much. He couldn't do this casually anymore. "But I didn't."

"Charlie," Stephen's voice was firm and assertive. "I have to see."

Uncomfortable as he was stood there, Clement threw off his sweater vest and started unbuttoning his shirt. He could see Fred and George's eyes grace over the fact that he was completely bandaged up. He felt even more apprehensive as he unbuttoned his button-down. He unwrapped the bandages, as he watched Stephen pull out a dressing kit. They had more dressing kits in this house than they had pots of sugar-free strawberry jam and wild clover honey. Clement had to bandage himself so many times that he could do his whole body in less than ten minutes.

With the bandages off, Stephen grabbed his hand and straightened out his arm to look. This was absolutely embarrassing.

"These aren't healing at all, are they?" Stephen asked, and Clement shook his head. "Eating next to nothing doesn't help."

Clement tried to look away, but he knew why Stephen was doing this. He tried to pretend like he was completely unaffected by the fact that Fred and George had somehow turned into the colour of ash from how sick they looked.

"What are those?" Fred cried out in disbelief. "Merlin, Perce, were you trying to slice off your whole arm?"

Clement's ears turned red. "Not in particular," he knew that Fred's question was rhetoric, but he couldn't help himself.

"How does this even stay together?" George asked, looking just as thrown back. "Merlin, how are you alive?"

Stephen's eyes flashed in fear and Clement just looked away because that was a poor choice of words.

"I didn't mean it like—…" George shook his head. "You know that I didn't mean it like that, don't you?"

"Yes," Clement replied in a near automatic fashion. He was like a machine sometimes, Stephen said, but Clement didn't believe that. Fred grabbed his other hand and was looking at his arm. Clement tried not to think about the fact that he'd carved out those words on his skin. He tried not to think about the fact that Fred was reading a great big _GIT_ and _PRAT_ slashed straight down to the bone. Where they going to tell him that he wasn't any of those things? They called him that all the time.

"Does… does it hurt?" George finally asked after a few moments of silence.

"Uh… um…" Clement didn't know how to explain it. Of course, it hurt, but he could deal with the pain for the most time. And when it really hurt, he had the pills to take. Clement remembered going to his appointments for skin grafted. He'd been booked a few times, but he kept on cancelling because of how nervous he was. "I suppose it slightly does."

"It slightly does …?" Stephen echoed with a raised eyebrow. "I'm surprised you can sleep at night!"

"I…I don't really," Clement reminded him. He rubbed his neck. "I haven't really slept well since I was young."

Clement bit down his lower lip but didn't say anything. Stephen and Gloria knew that they had to wean him off the medications, but they also tried to give him a little more than Clement wanted. If it were up to him, he'd take half a pill every two or three days. Gloria made him take a pill every night at least before he fell asleep. His doctor thought that he should be taking a little more, since Clement's blood pressure and heart rate was always sky-high from how in pain he was. They figured that one out because when they gave him a pill or two and measured it again, they were perfectly fine.

"Can… can you please stop looking at me?" Clement asked after some time, noticing the way that Fred and George were analysing each individualised cut. Now, Clement remembered the story behind each one. He truly wished that didn't.

"It's kind of hard not to," replied George dryly. "What with you butchering your skin and all."

Fred let go of Clement's arm, looking at him with a soft expression. He wished he'd taken those pills so badly now because he couldn't take the expressions on the twins' faces. The only time they'd ever been early to anything in their life and it was blowing up in Clement's face so badly. He didn't even know the twins acknowledged that morning didn't start at noon!

"Are…are you okay now?" Fred asked, and Clement tried not to pay too much attention to the fact that he sounded tearful. Because if Fred and George started to cry, then he would absolutely lose it. And he couldn't lose it. Not now.

"I'm alright," Clement nodded his head slowly. He stood there, with his wounds out in display.

"You're not alright," Stephen told him. "And I'm not going to pretend that this little incidence didn't happen. I'm going to talk to Dr Bareham now and explain the situation to him. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Clement whispered. Great. Now, he got the chance to disappoint his own therapist as well!

Stephen walked downstairs and he could hear him dialling Dr Bareham on their phone. Clement put his bandages on as fast as he could, and then wore his shirt and sweater vest, which were still as clean and crisp as it was when he'd taken them out of his closet. But Clement didn't feel well.

He opened the tap so that he could wash his hands, but even after the sixteenth time, he didn't feel any better.

Clement could vaguely heard Stephen explain the situation. He felt sorry for him because it wasn't like he could drive Clement to the hospital and claim that he almost swallowed a huge load of pills now, could he?

He just stood by the sink, washing his hands sixteen times, wiping the wetness with a wad of tissues and then repeating it again. And again. And again. He felt so silent and ashamed. He didn't know that there would be such a big fuss. He didn't think that it mattered so much. But now, he'd really gone and done it. He'd disappointed everyone, but he didn't know how to say it. How could he look at Audrey again and not tell her what happened? He told her everything. Already, he was finding it hard to explain to her that he remembered everything now. He… he wanted her to be the first to know after all! When he opened his mouth to say something to the silent Fred and George, he felt something swell in his throat and he just couldn't. What could he say?

Stephen called over for him to come and get the phone, which he didn't expect. Clement accepted it with clammy hands.

"Hey, Charlie," Dr Bareham's voice was calm. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Clement didn't know what he was saying. "I…I don't think I can," he felt his heart race as hard as possible, as he stared at the floor. He didn't know how to explain what had been going through his mind anymore. "I'm sorry."

"What can you tell me then?" Dr Bareham asked. Clement's mind was blank than his first English test.

"I'm not particularly sure, doctor," Clement responded. "I apologise for what I've nearly done. I can promise you that I would not attempt something like this, at least until the next time that I see you. Is that-is that alright?"

Dr Bareham told him to explain a little more, but Clement couldn't. He heard some really sweet things, "It's alright, Charlie. I understand", "You don't have to apologise to me" and "And you're going to see me tomorrow, aren't you? You're going to tell me all about it then, so I suggest that you have a good night's sleep tonight." He sounded so calm and understanding and Clement was just so grateful because he felt like he'd disappointed everyone. But Dr Bareham sounded like he knew that Charlie needed to be reassured. As the old man spoke, Clement felt his both relieved and guilty.

Stephen noticed it too because when Clement put the phone down, the tension in the air was a little less heaving.

"I really do apologise for what I almost did," Clement told Stephen as genuinely as he could. He felt a little sick thinking of having to tell Gloria, and it was almost unfathomable that this would somehow get to Arthur, Molly and everyone else.

"I know," Stephen didn't sound like he felt relieved at that. He looked as weary as ever.

Clement didn't know how his psychiatrist had so much faith in him. He didn't understand why he'd been so nice. He couldn't remember most of what Dr Bareham had said, but Clement still felt warm and relieved. But how was it that he could remember the awful things in detail but all the nice things just evapourated from his mind the second he heard them?

Stephen looked at him as if he was seeing right through him. "What…" he tried to compose himself. "What happened?"

Fred and George were stood beside him and Clement felt exhausted, even though he'd slept well. He'd slept so well that he didn't know if he ever wanted to sleep again, but he didn't want to be awake either anymore. Clement wanted to tell Audrey first, but he couldn't look straight into Stephen's sad light blue eyes and say nothing, could he?

"I…I remembered a lot more," Clement admitted, placing his hands into his pockets. "In fact, I remembered everything."

"Oh," Stephen looked disappointed. Because remembering everything came with its own setbacks, didn't it?

You'd think Fred and George would be overjoyed, but there was the tiny fact that whatever he remembered had drove him to nearly end his life in a muggle lavatory. Clement was sure that if he was left to his own devices, he would've done himself in. He was already teetering on the edge, with his shockingly low blood volume to begin with. A little more blood spill than usual and he'd be gone before Cinderella's godmother could help transport her to the ball.

Clement smiled to himself, remembering watching all these depressing films with her. Coincidentally, he'd started dozing off when he was watching _Sleeping Beauty_. She did, indeed, woke him up with a kiss so he did at least get the plot in the end!

"Everything?" Fred and George looked at him, like they didn't understand why he was still here in the muggle world.

"You know who we are? And mum and dad now? You know…?" Fred rattled off. "You remember the fight?"

Clement slowly nodded his head. "Yes, I…I suppose that I do," he remembered the fight that started this even up to being Obliviated. He didn't understand how he remembered everything. Most memory spells had such a permanent effect, and he received no means of wizarding care. He (and probably Freud) believed that maybe therapy might have helped him remember.

Stephen looked so scared in that second, as if he was losing him. Clement didn't blame him. He was scared too.

"I…it was just this morning," Clement explained to Stephen, who nodded his head. He knew. He might as well have taken the pills, because he could feel Clement's life melting away in front of his very eyes. "I would have told you. I promise."

"Are you coming back home?" was George's first question. Clement sighed deeply. He hated that question.

"I…I hadn't planned that far ahead," Clement responded dryly, and George flinched, because they both knew that the only thing that Clement had planned was that he'd have someone call the time of death by now if things had gone his way. The thought of going back to the Burrow left him feeling dizzy. But the thought of staying here suddenly made him feel like he was intruding on their living. He'd somehow distorted Gloria and Stephen's life into his. He used to wonder why they didn't want him before, and now, he felt ill at making them change their lives for him. How could he stay here?

Fred looked more than a little depressed. "Perce," he said, his voice straining. "Why don''t you come back.?"

Clement didn't think that there were enough words in the dictionary to explain why he didn't want to go back. "I suppose that I—"

 _"WHY_ won't he come back?" Stephen raised his voice so high that Clement started shaking. "Why wouldn't he go back to the house that he was raped for fourteen years, you mean? God knows why, Fred…George…whichever one you are! I don't know why your whole family is obsessed with taking Charlie away from us so badly. You think that you have a hold on him just because you share blood, but do you have any idea how much we've helped him? Do you know? Do you care? Or do you just want him around the house just to feel better about yourself? Do you care about what _he_ needs?"

Stephen took a deep breath, and then composed himself. "I apologise," he looked very unapologetic. "I didn't mean what I said…well, I did mean what I said but I didn't want to say it that way all the same."

"I'm aware," Clement was just thinking the same thing, but to hear it out loud made his skin crawl. "And that's Fred."


	31. The Death of Clement Charlie Jones

**Muggle Me**  
Chapter Thirty-One: The Death of Clement Charlie Jones

* * *

The rest of the day went by as slowly and as tediously as possible. Fred and George caused little to no havoc all day, but he supposed that was what happened when you heard that your brother was just about to attempt suicide. Clement tried to go back to sleep a few times, but sleep just wouldn't come. He felt a little more energetic, so he took two showers, and felt a little better by the third one. Clement then stared at his favourite Salvador Dali painting, feeling like he was dreaming all over again. But when he closed his eyes, he could see that block of Camembert bubbling away, and he could see the ice-cream on the floor, swirling and melting away. Clement was whisked away with the portrait. Beautiful.

"Hey, Perce?" Fred's voice had taken Clement out of his trance. He didn't know how he must look like, staring mindlessly at a piece of paper for ages. Clement didn't even realise that ironically, he'd been following the paranoid-critical method. He'd been staring at it for ages and was mindlessly trying to sketch too.

"Yes?" Clement looked up and saw Fred and George standing by the door. They hadn't been to his room yet.

He didn't know what they'd been doing all day besides getting bored out of their skulls. Their mum had made more exciting looking porridge to be honest. Clement was sat leg-crossed on the floor, with his eyes level to his favourite drawing. He was sat on the carpet and was absentmindedly sketching light grey lines. They had no meaning or purpose, just like him.

"Or do you prefer Charlie?" George asked, with a slight chuckle as if he was joking.

"I _do_ prefer Charlie actually," confessed Clement, looking back at his drawing. He looked back at his twin brothers, noticing how distraught they looked. They did however join him on the carpet and were staring at Salvador Dali's masterpiece like it was a dead pigeon in the middle of the schoolyard. "It's breath-taking, isn't it?"

Fred looked at Clement like he was mad. "Breath-taking?" he asked. "Is that because you're so blood-depleted?"

"You need a new pair of glasses," George's eyes were on some more violent pieces. He shuddered. "What is that?"

"I do not need a new pair of glasses. I've had the same ones since I was a first year and I was fine then, wasn't I?" Clement rolled his eyes, but then sighed deeply. He wondered how this piece was produced. He loved to imagine Salvador Dali working. You only ever saw the finished product and the talk about it, but you were never going to know what really had been going on in his mind for days on end when he was painting this beauty, did you? "Why are you suddenly silent?"

"It's just the first time that you've mentioned something like that. Like from before," Fred placed his hands on his knees. "You know, before you started living here in the muggle world with your new muggle parents," he said with an edge to his voice.

What did they want Clement to say to this? _Give me a break I nearly killed myself_ _this morning_ didn't seem appropriate.

"Do you really remember the fight?" George asked, and Clement nodded his head. "You do…? Well, what happened?"

Clement didn't want to talk about it, but he felt like he owed them an explanation at the very least. But did he really owe them an explanation? If he'd denied them one, would it have been fair? "Yes, I do. It was a rather harrowing night," replied Clement. "I suppose after—the words we exchanged… though I expect that both parties didn't mean much of what we said, I left the house to spend the night in Oliver Wood's flat. He lives in muggle London. I have a particularly bad habit of—well, considering I have more steam than the Hogwarts Express, I was…am a very avid smoker. I smoke whenever I felt the tiniest bit overwhelmed. So, I was just having a smoke outside when I had been attacked by…"

"By Death Eaters that you didn't believe existed," Fred said, and Clement nodded his head. "Must've been a shock."

Clement tried to ignore that, but he also wanted to yell back at him so badly. Why was his family so judgmental? "Yes, well… just before they Obliviated me, I noticed that some of my cleaning products were leaking," he explained. "I threw my cigarette in them just before I had my memories erased. After that, I was very discombobulated. I was so out of touch with reality that even Dumbledore would struggle to make sense with me. By then, they had to get rid of me because I was a liability. They couldn't very well chuck me in the river because I was the Minister's assistant. They were afraid people would come looking for me and that they'd launch a whole investigation about why I was so unwell. They didn't want everyone to know that You-Know-Who was back yet. I think their original target had been our father, since they kept on asking me about the Order of the Phoenix. As you know, I know nothing about that. And when they realised it, they gave me a muggle identity and had me go to school to try and get me to disappear from the wizarding world. In my… disorientation, I had confused my muggle identity with my true one and after that, Clement Charlie Jones was born."

Clement still remembered the pang of pain he felt when he realised that the Death Eater trainees weren't his mates. A part of him was wondering what had happened to them after all this time. Why hadn't they come to see him? To explain this?

"But now, you remember that you're Percy! Don't you?" George rationalised. "So, why are you still acting so…?"

Clement stared back at the painting. Every time he looked at it, it had a different meaning. He supposed he'd gone Dumbledore mad now, looking at the same painting for the last few hours.

"You have to understand, George," he didn't miss that the twins were surprised that he could even tell them apart. But why shouldn't he be able to? Clement remembered who they were now. "Imagine you lose your memories and you believe that you were truly Fred, but someone comes ahead and tells you that you are not. You will not warm up to the idea. You might even reject it, despite the myriad of evidence to support it because you had already decided on your identity. You were Fred and everyone that knows you believes it too. But then overnight, you seemed to have remembered everything that made you very George. Do you think that you would suddenly be George just because you remember those things?"

"Um… no?" George looked like he didn't understand a word of what Clement was saying. "But you remember now! I—"

Clement's eyes hardened. "Yes, I remember, but there are a lot of things I could've done without."

"Things that drove you to nearly kill yourself at six in the morning?" Fred asked, and Clement was sick of this accusatory tone that they had with him. They acted like he wanted to have an identity crisis at the ripe age of seventeen. Well, Clement was seventeen. Percy was twenty. Even their ages didn't match up! "Did you know what's happened in the past few months that you've been here, living with your new muggle family? We were mourning your _DEATH!_ We thought you were dead up until just a few days ago! And then… the way you're acting, it makes me feel like we shouldn't have even bothered! You haven't even considered how everyone else feels and—"

" _I_ haven't considered how anyone else feels?" Clement echoed incredulously. The nerve of him!

"Well, maybe that's not true but…" Fred stammered, trying to get his point across. "I just can't believe you want to stay here instead of being with your real family. Mum and dad have been taking care of you all your life, but...but it's like what they did doesn't matter to you! You spend a couple of months with a bunch of muggles and now, you don't want to hurt their feelings! What about our feelings, huh? What about mum and dad? What about Bill, Charlie, Ron and Ginny? Or did you forget that the whole world doesn't revolve around what you want?"

"They're not muggles. They're my real family too," Clement said seriously. "And I'm not stepping foot in that house if it kills me."

"Well, you don't have to! You don't ever have to bother tiring yourself out for me or Fred, or mum and dad—or anyone else ever again!" George said, grabbing a wand from his rucksack that Clement immediately recognised as his own. He threw the wand over at Clement. Ordinarily, he would be the one yelling back and they'd have a big row, but he stayed silent. "And you remember everything, don't you, Percy? Or should I say _Charlie?_ Well, then you don't need our protection! You could just protect your bloody self since you had an Outstanding in Defence Against the Dark Arts!"

Clement felt a pain in his chest and his heart racing but he stayed quiet. He rubbed his hands together. They were cold.

Fred stood up, tossing one look over at him. "I hope you're happy here," he said bitterly. "I'm sorry we wasted your time."

Clement looked up at him, and he felt awful. He felt like he used to every single day in that house. He understood why they said the things that they did, but it didn't make the pain of the words hurt any less then. He was crushed.

"I'm sorry you feel like you've wasted my time," Clement mumbled.

Just before they left, they stopped. Clement watched George turn around with a solemn expression on his face. There was just them in this room that meant so much to him now. He had more good memories here than he ever did in the Burrow. Why couldn't anyone understand that? But he did still miss the Burrow sometimes, he'd admit...

George then stopped midway. "Is… is it true what Stephen said? And what Bill said?" he looked like he was about to dissolve into tears.

"Pardon?" Clement looked up, surprised that they hadn't left yet after the dramatic speech. What did they mean when—

"Is it true?" Fred reiterated. Both of them didn't look like they wanted an answer to whatever that were talking about. "Is it true when mum and dad said? About what happened when you were six? About you being…being raped? In the house? In mum and dad's bedroom when-when we were in the house? And it happened again and…?" he then fumbled with his shirt.

George sounded about ten years younger when he asked, "Did it really happen? Or did they… misread the situation?"

"They didn't misread the situation," Clement answered, staring at the wand on the floor. That was his. It was really his.

Clement turned to pick up the wand from the floor, looking at it. It didn't feel like his anymore, even though he'd probably spent more time casting spells than he did painting little photos that reminded him of Salvador Dali now.

George paled. "I just…I don't understand," he said. "Why didn't you tell us? Dad said it had been fourteen years!"

"It has been fourteen years," Clement confirmed. "I believe we've both established how long it's been now, haven't we?"

There was another wave of silence and it made Clement shudder. He didn't understand what just happened. They just told him off for wanting to live here and being a selfish arsehole. Why was he letting them know such sensitive information? He felt particularly apprehensive. Clement was frightened that Clarence would somehow know and-and punish him for it.

"Who…who did it?" Fred asked tentatively. "Bill thinks it's a family member from what you said... that isn't right, is it?"

"Please tell us," George begged, as if they didn't just have a massive row just a few seconds ago.

Clement thought that those were the hardest questions that he'd ever have to answer. When he closed his eyes, he saw Clarence standing before him, smirking at him with his glossy eyes and his pale, freckled hands. He was so pathetic, short and thin. Every bone and vein in his body protruded and he shook more than Penelope during an orgasm—not that he wanted to think of Clarence doing anything remotely sexual, Clement thought with disgust.

"Yes, it is a family member," Clement chose to say. "But I don't want to disclose the identity of my perpetrator."

"Why not?" Fred asked, sounding a little on edge. Why should he feel like he had the right to know? "How do you think that this is going to get any better if you don't tell anyone who it is?" Clement was stunned. He didn't even have the energy to muster up all the fury that he was supposed to be feeling, because how dare he say that to him?

"I didn't know you were a doctor, Fred! How do you know that I'll never get any better if I don't mention his name?" Clement asked seriously. "I doubt this is about me. This is about you wanting to know, but I…I can't. And if you don't respect that, then maybe it was a mistake ever letting anyone know about what happened. So, forget about this. Please."

"We're trying to help you," Fred said. He sounded hurt. "Merlin, why do you have to be such a stubborn git?"

The second that Fred used the word git to describe him, he looked like he regretted it. George paled just as quickly, trying not to eye Clement's arm. He was covered and clothed, but they all knew what he'd carved into his skin.

"I'm sorry you feel this way," Clement replied. He was sick of fighting with them. He'd rather just be sat there and take it.

He also had a gnawing feeling like they didn't believe that it had happened. It made him feel anxious.

"Okay, Percy," George tried to offer him a smile, but it looked sarcastic. "I hope you know what you're doing."

When they left, Clement just climbed into his bed, and stared at the ceiling, wishing that he could really cry. He felt so bloody sad. How did he used to cope with living with the whole lot of them? They had more mood swings than Judy did, and they were more difficult to read than a whole script in Ancient Runes. Clement pulled his duvet up, wishing he could just go to sleep. This day felt like it was never-ending, but looking at the clock, it wasn't even bloody noon yet!

Clement had about as much artistic inspiration now as he did when he was first dragged to the shops by Audrey and Judy. After seeing a million-and-one patterned skirts, Clement thought he'd a stroke. He didn't want to see paint for days.

The only thing he'd been looking forward to all day was for Audrey to come by. And around two-thirty on the dot, she rang him and told him that Judy's older sister came by for a visit and needed an 'urgent makeover' because she had lost someone really close to her in the last few months. Clement had his hand on his bony knee, feeling the ache in his chest. He felt his heart race and the pounding in his chest made him want to kneel over and collapse. What was he going to do? Tell her over the phone that he nearly killed himself today? That his brothers probably hated him? That he remembered everything now?

"I'm so sorry," Audrey said after noticing his silence. "I know that you don't like shopping. I know that I promised that we're going to watch those films today, but we can do it any other day, can't we? Are you… are you cross with me?"

"No, I'm not," Clement responded in a clear voice. "But I would like to join you this afternoon. To go shopping."

Clement could think of many things he'd rather do than shop with Audrey and Judy, including gauging out his eyeballs very slowly with a fork but he really wanted to see her. He thought that anything would be better than being sat there, thinking about what he was going to do with his life.

"Are you sure?" Audrey was unsure. "Charlie, the last time we went out shopping, you spent half the time outside, smoking and drinking coffee because you thought that you were going to lose it if you see another price tag."

His face remained unchanging. "And your point is…?" Clement urged. Audrey just sighed.

"Fine," she said. "But you can't be awkward around Judy's sister. She's having a really horrific time. She's really nice—I think you'll like her. Oh, and Steel is coming too so maybe you two could… do bloke things if you want. Though I can't imagine that either of you have anything in common besides a Y chromosome that is."

Clement did not want to imagine another pretty-faced, dark-haired Judy blathering on to him about how she wanted to shag him under the moonlight. The thought made him feel about as irritated as a cat with no cream. Clement barely tolerated Judy as it was. Recently, she dropped subtle hints about them being together—which in turn, made every other female under the sun attempt to chat him up like he was a Triwizard Tournament champion. For Merlin's sake, he had a girlfriend! And even if he didn't, he still would never swap mouth bacteria with her!

"I will try not to," Clement said, feeling a little confused. "I will be there in half an hour," he promised.

After taking another shower and changing again, Clement left the house after insisting time and time again to Stephen that he was not going to find another way to kill himself, he was simply going to the shops with Audrey. Which, by the way, in his opinion was a slow and laborious death that even he would not subject himself to if he could.

The sky outside was still murky-looking but Clement ignored it. He couldn't give it a quick wash now, could he?

When he walked inside the shopping mall, he felt very alone. He felt a little empty and hollow on the inside, like he wasn't supposed to be there. He could see people giving him a once-over and noting him as either unattractive or unremarkable.

Clement had made it to the shop that Audrey promised she'd stay aat until he got there. True to her word, there was his girlfriend, stood there with her massive carrier bag. There were more tops in that bag than Clement had in his own closet. Audrey was furiously flipping through the rack. She looked in awe of a violet top which Clement was sure she already had in her closet, buried deep between a pair of trousers she'd never worn and a frock that wouldn't fit five-stone Annabelle from art class.

"Audrey?" Clement then realised the look on her face as she inched closer. It was the same look that she had when Judy made fun of Audrey for 'managing' to be the heaviest girl in class. This was not good. "Audrey?"

"Yes?" Audrey replied, not even looking up to see Clement. She stuffed another jacket in her shopping bag that she didn't even look at. Clement was sure that it would be wonderful on her if she decided to grow about five inches because it would be too long on him. And he was a giant.

Clement felt himself shuffle uncomfortably. "What… what happened?" he asked. "Did Judy say something?"

"No," Audrey replied back, her voice high with irritation. "It's _her_. Judy's sister. I…I always forget how absolutely bloody perfect she is! Have you ever met anyone like that? You'd think after pushing a baby out of her and losing someone she really cared about in the last few months, she'd look an absolute state, but she already looks better than I ever will! She's so nice too, so you couldn't even hate her for it. She kept asking me if I was alright! Me! I'm not the one that lost someone, you know? I'm not the one that had just delivered a half-stone baby! It's just…it's absolutely horrible."

Audrey chucked another pair of shorts in that looked more like underpants. "I hate her," she decided. "I hate her."

Before Clement could say anything, Judy had come around, holding loads of shopping bags herself. "Charlie!" she looked at him, with a completely worried expression. "I missed you in class today. It was _so_ boring without you there," she said, as if Clement did anything particularly interesting in class besides trying not to sleep because he didn't like Shakespeare.

"There was nobody to convulse when I pulled out my yoghurt pot," said Steel from behind him. Clement shuddered.

"Thank you?" Clement replied uncertainly, darting his eyes back at a quiet Audrey.

She was flushing. "Oh, yes…I-I was going to mention that after, you know. You not being in school," she seemed to have forgotten about the fact that Clement hadn't bothered turning into school today. He ignored that since she was obviously upset. "After what I was telling you about… about a pretty bird. So… what happened today? Are you getting on alright?"

"Yes, I am perfectly fine," Clement replied, not sure if this was the perfect place to profess all this sadness. "I wasn't feeling well this morning."

Steel nodded his head understandably. "You found a spot in your white trainers, have you?" he jeered.

Clement just stared at him coldly. Then he heard a familiar voice say, "Jude, I found these half-off socks that are just—"

And then his whole world stopped when Judy's sister walked towards them because he was transported back to 1993 where she was rubbing his back and telling him that he was going to be okay. Clement remembered how it felt like to draw for the very first time with her around. He remembered the fact that Lucy Antoinette Dencen was in a debt that she would not have been able to pay if not for the fact that Clarence barely used his money because he'd rather terrorise him in his spare time. Who had time for a quick shop when you could demoralise a child instead?

"Half-off socks? Are you serious? How boring can you get, Luce?" Judy groaned. She paused, noticing the fact that her and Clement were staring at each other like they were about to proclaim their long-lost love. "Do you two know each other?"

"Percy," Lucy nearly dropped her shopping bags on the floor. "You're…you're Charlie? The bloke that Judy has been—"

"Lucy," Clement said breathlessly, and Lucy had tears slipping down her cheeks. She looked shocked, as if he came back from the dead. "Yes, I'm Charlie. I…"

Audrey paled dramatically and looked like she'd seen a ghost. "How-how do you two even know each other?" Oh, this was so awkward. Audrey didn't like Lucy!

"She married my uncle—um…Clarence," Clement explained. He realised that when they said she'd lost someone, they meant _him_. Audrey suddenly glowered over at her like she was the one that instructed her husband to molest a six-year-old. He didn't know what he expected but feeling Audrey's eye son him left him feeling nervous. She hated Lucy. "I didn't even know that you were pregnant to begin with. But I suppose that my mother didn't make things any easier."

"Clarence?" Audrey reiterated disbelievingly. "You had Clarence's baby? How could you?" Clement flushed.

"Yes, well, he's my husband! Who else's baby would I be having?" Lucy rubbed Clement's shoulder and squeezing it softly. His heart melted. Clement remembered the days where even as obsessive-compulsive as he was, he would still lick the asphalt that she walked on. "Oh Merlin, Percy…Charlie, I wish that you'd been there to meet my baby! I just don't understand…what happened? Why does everyone think that you're dead? Where did you disappear? What are you doing here?"

"Everyone thinks you're dead?" Steel stared at him with a raised eyebrow. " _You_ actually have an interesting backstory?"

"It's not an interesting backstory. It's a long tale," Clement found himself saying. He could see Judy run after him, asking for details soon enough. She'd probably keep annoying Lucy until she knew that he was a wizard that had lost all his memories. "I doubt it's as interesting as it seems, but let's just say, it is painful. Do you think that I _enjoy_ washing my hands sixteen times a day?"

"You missed seeing her baby?" was all that Judy zeroed in on. "You're Percy? _Her_ Percy?"

"What do you mean _HER_ Percy? _"_ Audrey was misconstruing the situation very quickly. He had never gotten together with Lucy in his life, despite his many fantasies.

"Yes, I am," Clement wished he'd been there. He would've climbed mountains (with sterile gloves, of course!) just to see the baby.

"I…I named him after you," Lucy said after some time, her voice soft. "His name is Percival Brandon Prewett."

As he processed those words, Lucy pulled out a tiny photo from her purse and showed it to him. He was beautiful. He was red-faced, with long thick lashes and watery blue eyes staring back at them. Clement felt his heart pound.

"A… after me?" Clement said, sounding surprised and Lucy nodded her head. Judy looked like she found him even more attractive than she did before, because if the elusive, perfect-looking Lucy had such a close relationship with him, then he must be absolutely perfect too. "I…" his mind was racing. Clarence's son was named after _him?_ He felt sick.

Audrey seemed to realise what was happening because she stared at Lucy with wide eyes. "Charlie, I—…"

"Pardon me," Clement said, rubbing his neck. "I seemed to have forgotten my wallet in my house. Silly me. Going shopping without-without any money. I suppose I'll just nip back to home and-and—"

"I can pay for you!" Judy offered. Clement couldn't bear to see the look of confusion on Lucy's face. "I can't believe that you're the Percy that Lucy had told me about. That means we're related in a way? That's sort of gross because I had feelings for you. But I guess it wasn't meant to be! How about we go get coffee together and we can talk about—"

"No, no, thank you," Clement said, rubbing his neck. "I…I have a special trust fund for, _err_ , coffee. I would rather use it because it has an expiration date, and you know how I'm like about expiration dates so…I'll be back!" he rambled. He then bolted straight out of the shopping centre without looking over at Audrey's hurt face or Lucy's alarmed expression.

By the time that he bolted to get down to his car, he was nervously fumbling with his keys.

The second that he had his car door opened, he heard a _POP!_ and turned around to see Lucy staring at him with the most shattered expression that he'd ever seen. It was even worse than imagining how she felt like when he wasn't there at her wedding. God, why did she even name her child after him when all he'd done was disappoint her?

"Percy, what's going on?" Lucy looked torn, as she held her numerous glossy shopping bags. "I…I don't understand. I went to go out to the shops with my sister, who I've not seen in ages because she obviously knows about magic as much as Clarence knows about how to operate a toaster without burning his other hand off. I'm having a very normal, muggle-y day, only to discover that the cute little bloke my sister was infatuated with turned out to be my presumed-to-be-dead nephew!"

 _Nephew?_ Clement thought vaguely. She was barely a month older than Bill. She was about as old as Fred and George's Pygmy Puffs!

"I…I didn't know Judy was your sister," Clement replied. The apple did not just fall far from the tree. Oh no! It had fallen straight off, knocked out Newton in the head and then tumbled down to a roaring river! "And I have a girlfriend."

Lucy looked surprised by this. "Audrey Claire Brown?" she asked. "The girl that had breast cancer?"

"What?" Clement looked walloped over, as he saw Lucy staring at him very seriously. "She's seventeen!"

"You don't know the story? Oh…well, I thought that you did because she's your girlfriend," Lucy replied. "I'm sorry, Percy. I just thought that you knew because you were with her! But maybe she doesn't want to tell you yet. It is sensitive after all."

"Sensitive?" Clement reiterated, feeling his chest ache. "I told her some sensitive things too! I told her about…"

Clement just stared at her, completely stunned. He felt confused. Audrey didn't tell him about any cancer. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut. She was the only one that knew that Clarence had raped him. She was the only one that knew the full details of the first time that it happened, and now, he felt like he'd been thoroughly betrayed.

"I'm not supposed to know either. But Judy has a big mouth and…" Lucy paused. "Percy? What did you tell her?"

Clement opened his car door and then gestured for her to go in. "How about we go out for a drive?"

"You know how to drive?" she asked in surprise, only for him to nod his head.

As she sat down, squirming uncomfortably in her seat, Clement helped put her shopping away. He was sat in the driver's seat minutes later, his hands on the wheel as he took in the disgusting British sunlight that wouldn't just leave him alone.

Why was it so bloody sunny in late November? And how could it be sunny and cold at the same time?

Clement turned to complain about it but complaining about the weather didn't seem like the right thing to do now.

Lucy watched him fiddle with the radio. He hated everything that was on, so he put on his Queen cassette that he'd gotten from Audrey—well, he took from Audrey without asking her because it was nice. Clement relaxed in his seat, soaking it all up. He was dying for a cigarette but tried to keep himself from reaching into the box. Lucy had already been looking at it and she must've noticed that it was almost empty. Clement already had another box, or two, in his glove compartment. Just in case he needed an emergency smoke, of course, but he wasn't at all addicted to it.

Clement felt almost mechanical as he told her the truth. "Lucy, my memories were erased," he said. "I didn't remember who I was until this morning. I've been living here in muggle London and I…well, I enjoy it."

He paused for a moment, waiting for her to reply. He turned to see that she wasn't listening. She'd pulled out her sketchbook from her car and was flipping through her mind-boggling vivid indigo-coloured butterflies. They were paired with carroty-orange flowers that looked like they should be registered in the Department of Magical Creatures because they were so real. He felt for them like Charlie felt for dragons, like Ron felt for Harry and Hermione, like… well, like Percy felt for Lucy, didn't he?

Clement remembered the first drawing he saw of hers when he was seven. He felt like he was transported into one of Audrey's fairy tales. He felt like he was experiencing something beyond magic and logic. He was moved by her even strokes, her smooth brushes, her bright colours… if he closed his eyes right now, he could remember the first time he held a quill. It had felt so right. But he didn't know that he'd been using it wrong until he was down a path he didn't want to be. Until he was Perfect Prefect Percy, and his future had been decided for him. How could he say he wanted to be an _artist_ after he decided that he didn't want another Crouch debacle to happen again?

"I'm sorry," Lucy looked up from her sketchbook to meet his eyes. "I shouldn't be boring you with these." She stuffed her sketchbook into her bag, her cheeks flushing deeply. "I just wanted to see if they look alright. I had them done at two in the morning."

Clement watched her shift uncomfortably in his car. "Lucy?" he asked softly. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

"No, no!" Lucy said a little too quickly. "But... um... did you remember when your mum and I had that fight all those years back? The first year that Clarence and I were married, he had to take a long leave from work after he had his valve issue… and your mum told me that if I wanted to provide for him, I'd have to a little more than scribble a few lines on paper?"

Clement slowly nodded his head. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I do." He remembered everything so vividly. It was like it had just happened.

"Your family have no respect for what I do," Lucy continued to blather on. Clement remembered that too. The memories were so bright that they were searing into his very delicate cornea. He couldn't imagine coming back home, telling his parents that he knew that he had 12 O.W.L's but he'd rather throw them away so that he could spend his life mixing paints and splotching them on canvas? "Even Fred and George used to make fun of me for it! Asking me if what I really wanted to do with my life is sell pretty-looking paper!"

"Yes," Clement whispered, feeling a little ill as he kept his eyes peeled on the road. "I'd never said anything."

"No, you didn't," Lucy acknowledged. "You'd never once made me feel like I was wasting my life, even though you're one of the most ambitious, smartest people that I've ever met. I never really understood why until-until…Judy told me that the bloke that she liked, that I didn't even know had a girlfriend at the time, was a _painter_. Like me."

Clement thought of the paintings that he had back in the Burrow. Most people kept their drug addiction under wraps, not their paintings.

"Is it true?" Lucy asked, and Clement slowly nodded his head. "Why have you never told me? I don't understand. I…"

"I was ashamed. I am ashamed," Clement admitted softly. "How could I have so much _potential_ ," he spat out the word bitterly, "and waste it all away after all that? Maybe if I was like Fred and George, then nobody would care but I'm not like Fred and George. I'm very much like myself. I am meticulous and methodical to a fault. How could I tell anyone that I…?"

Lucy put her hands on her lap, and then balled them into fists. "Percy?" she asked. "Who are you really?"

Clement stared at the road and wondered the same thing. "You'd think I'd know with all those O.W.L's," he mumbled.

They stayed silent after that. Clement didn't even know where he was driving to until he got to the Shephard residence. Home. And when he left the car, he found Gloria standing there, pale as anything, with his parents. Molly stared at Lucy with a hardened expression and his father was biting down on his lip so hard that you'd think he'd draw blood.

He had his hands in his pocket now. How long had they been stood outside? Was this a chance meeting?

"We _just_ invited your family over, Percy!" Gloria said and her voice was so cold that it sent a chill down his spine. Clement looked at Stephen, who just shook his head. He didn't tell her that he had a near suicide attempt this morning yet, did he? Because she didn't act like she knew. "Now, when were you going to tell me that you regained all your memories?"

Clement stiffened in his spot, with Lucy's hand on his arm. "I…it was just this morning."

"Percy?" Molly looked at him with big eyes. "Percy, is that you?"

"Yes, mother, it's me," Percy said in a certain voice. "Who else would I be?" And then he felt his Clement Charlie Jones fade away from his vision. He felt like he just woke up from a very long nightmare, but he supposed that he should've gotten used to this by now? He would just have to face the proverbial music, even if he didn't want to.

"I've already prepared a pot of tea for you lot," Gloria said. "And I've already started packing your things."

Percy looked over at Stephen, who just looked at him apologetically. Did he fail him? What happened in the last hour? For God's sake, he didn't even buy himself any shopping. Stephen pulled his hand out and Percy gave him the keys to a car he would probably never drive anymore. Now that he could retain more than three seconds' worth of information, he really did want to take his driver's test. He did want to have good grades again, and to go to a nice arts school just close to home. You know, his new home with the Shephard's. He wanted to—

Molly hugged him tightly. "Percy, I…I missed you so much. I thought we really lost you. I thought…" she had tears running down her face. "I can't wait for us to go back home. Then we'll have a nice long chat about all of this, alright?"


	32. I Don't Like Grimmauld Place

_if i tell you there's a trigger warning for sexual assault / rape in this one, you know what happens, don't you? but there is a **trigger warning**. i tried not to go too graphic, but i know that i could've written the whole scene out. if you want, just skip from mentions of Clarence up until the last paragraph.  
_

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Thirty-Two: I Don't Like Grimmauld Place

* * *

As Percy poured himself a cup of tea from the kettle, he felt tense. He could now hear a butterfly's wingbeat. He could also hear a sleepy Judy Dencen shriek about another pair of shoes that she just _had_ to have. That was how quiet the whole house was. His two families were probably all glaring at each other in a stony silence in the living room. What a joke.

Percy had honestly been to more exciting business meetings with Chinese Minister… and he was deaf _and_ mute!

As he took a sip of the tea, he felt his shaky hands move in for a cigarette. He hadn't eaten a single thing today, and he couldn't say that being forcefully taken back to his childhood home made him want to run down to kebab shop for a chicken donor with more chips than a Quidditch team could finish. As Percy stood alone in the kitchen counter, he looked at the oatmeal-coloured walls and the bowl of waxy-coloured fruit that he still had his suspicions about. He could see Stephen and Gloria sitting there, bickering over the something trivial. Had that just been this morning? Percy thought of the packed duffel in the living room. It had more bandages in it than a hospital did and was filled with clothes that were so uninspired that even Professor Binns wouldn't wear them. How… could he feel so loved that morning and then cast aside in the same evening? Did he really almost swallow a handful of pills that could've made him lose his life? Why didn't he?

Was this the same Stephen that insisted that he had to see Dr Bareham tomorrow? Why was he throwing him _OUT?_

"Percy?" he heard Stephen's soft voice. Percy looked up to meet Stephen's light blue eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Not in particular," Percy replied in a soft voice. "But does it really matter to you, Mr Shephard? Now that you've finally gotten rid of me and my… unbearable neuroses." Everyone thought his habits were unbearable. As if watching him wash his hands sixteen times a day was more tiring than actually doing it. How did you think _he_ felt?

He couldn't believe that he just came home after he almost attempted suicide, only to find himself being kicked out! How did Stephen look so shattered to know how little he thought of himself, and then throw him out of his home?

All because he had ceased being Charlie. Charlie was gone, _pouf_. Disappeared along with all his dreams and hopes and his responsibilities. Stephen and Gloria would climb over bridges for a fictional character, someone that had never existed and was a by-product of his amnesia but they wouldn't spare a single moment to spit on Percy Weasley's fucking grave! To them, his true identity was worthless. Charlie was just another name in a list of babies that poor, poor Gloria had lost. Now, he was going to be forced back to the same miserable existence that he had all along. He was supposed to go and talk to Dr Bareham tomorrow, but no use in that now, was it? It wasn't like Percy could make Charlie reappear. He just had to come to terms with the fact that it didn't matter at all that he'd almost eaten enough pills to make an addict convulse!

It didn't matter that Stephen was standing in the lavatory just a few hours ago, looking like his whole world was torn apart when he discovered how desperate he was for the pain to end. Percy would usually feel furious about this now and would have had a row with everyone, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Why should he be angry?

He thought so little of himself too. And it seemed like he'd been right all along. He really was worthless.

"And my instability, my failures, my…" Percy's lip wobbled to Stephen. "Mr Shephard, I apologise for burdening you."

"You didn't burden me," Stephen promised. "I couldn't tell Gloria the whole story when she'd heard that you remembered everything. I think she has it in her mind that this is the only way now, wouldn't you? Why would you want to stay after all? You already remember your family very well. She didn't want you to pretend to decide and go along with them or—"

"I think you made it clear that why I wouldn't want to go back to the house where I'd been raped for fourteen years," Percy reminded him, feeling a chill up his spine. It never got easier to say it. And did you know what? Ever since he'd said it, it caused more trouble than ever. Percy wished he'd never told anyone. It was easier being mental without a reason. "I just returned to where I felt was my home to find out that I've been kicked out. It's… not ideal, I'd say, Mr Shephard."

Stephen's lips formed a tight line. "Um, well, I…" he paused. "Percy would be different than Charlie, wouldn't he?"

"I'm afraid so," Percy replied. "And I…I suppose Gloria doesn't want to know Percy very much."

"Yes, well…—you'd be different now, with the memories, wouldn't you?" Stephen inquired nervously. "It would be like taking in someone new. And Gloria would always be thinking about how different you both are. She'd always be noticing how you've changed, and it wouldn't sit well, especially if there are a lot of changes. She wouldn't be able to keep up. I mean… your memories do change your personality, don't they? And I suppose that she just can't handle the thought of losing another child that she…" he trailed off, because he was telling too much to Percy, who was obviously a 'stranger.'

What did Stephen think? That he somehow forgot all his new memories once the old ones came in?

Percy felt empty. "I understand," he put his cup down. "Thank you," he said weakly.

He didn't understand. She was throwing him out because she was scared that he wouldn't like his tea the same way? Or that he might laugh at different jokes? Percy couldn't imagine that Clement was _that_ different from him…

Except, of course, compared to him, Clement was an open book. Percy was a locked Gringott's bank account.

Stephen offered a watery smile and shook Percy's hand like they just concluded a business deal. Percy had been washing his hands so much that they were perpetually wetter than the dog next door that liked to bathe in the little puddle on the park across the street. Percy was going to walking out of this house and nearly tripping on the loose step. He was going to miss being woke up at the crack of arse just to change his bandages. He was going to miss falling asleep in classes. He was even going to miss seeing Steel's biceps get bigger (how much steroids did he take?) and Judy…actually, he supposed that he could do without Judy. Unfortunately, he just had to find out that he was distantly related to her. How lucky.

"I'm sorry that it had to be this way," Stephen said. "Please drop by whenever you can."

"I appreciate the offer, Mr Shephard, but I don't think I'm wanted here anymore," Percy felt the heat of rejection. He had told them so much. He had expected so much, and they helped him so much, but… it was all over now. "I appreciate everything that you…" he felt tears burning into his eyes and he felt like he was about to choke. His throat hurt.

"Excuse me," Percy passed by a surprised Stephen and went outside. Why was he surprised? That he had _emotions?_

Why did they think that he'd forgotten all they'd done for him? What this meant to him?

Starring at the starry looking night, he wished he could go into the living room just so he could ring Audrey. But even if the living room was empty and he was dialling her number right this moment, what would he say to her? That he was leaving here because he remembered everything, and the Shephard's didn't want him anymore? That he had been in love with Lucy a few years back but felt virtually nothing for her now? That he didn't want to lose Audrey, even though he was going back to Devon to live out a life that he was looking forward to as much as a rectal exam? Percy wondered for a moment why she never bothered telling him about having cancer before. He didn't really know much about her. He thought that there was nothing to tell anymore but now, he felt cheated on and unwanted. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

It didn't make him feel any better. But at least it didn't make him feel any worse.

As he took a long drag of his cigarette, he tried to relax. Just as he let his shoulders drop, he heard, "What are you doing?!"

Percy turned around to see his mum standing there, looking appalled at him. There was a time where this would've made anxious. If this was any other time, he'd have told her that that his psychiatric healer told him that smoking would help with his concentration, but he honestly didn't care that she caught him smoking. So what? She knew some of his deepest, darkest secrets now! Why did a bad smoking habit matter? He just stared at her, still holding his cigarette.

"Put that out now!" Molly shrieked at him. "Do you know what that's doing to your lungs right now?"

Percy stared at her; his furious face unmoving. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

He could see his life months from now: the same as it had always been. He'd tuck all his paintings away until they accumulated dust—in which case he'd have to set them on fire because Percy Weasley and dust got along as well as Draco Malfoy and his brother, Ron, did. His lifeless job in the Ministry. Washing his hands sixteen times a day and everyone desensitising to the fact that they thought that he was dead a few months back. Nobody noticing how bad it was again when things got busy in a job that he didn't want to do. His life returning back to the same monotonous existence. And then one day, he will get bad enough again that people would wonder why they never did anything. But then they'd forget about it eventually. And it would go on and on until he'd draw his last breath. That was it. His pitiful useless existence.

Fourteen years of _it_ happening would turn into fifteen into sixteen into twenty, because the thought of telling people that he didn't trust that he'd been raped by Clarence made his blood curdle. He never felt more like giving up on his life.

"Well…?" Molly gestured towards the cigarette, her hands on her hips. She looked so thin compared to before.

"Mother, I have practically sliced my body in half. Do you think I care about a little nicotine?" he asked calmly.

She looked thrown back. Molly didn't look like she expected him to mention that. Why? They both knew what he'd already done to his body. Were they already dodging it? They weren't even out of the Shephard's house anymore. What was up with this God-forsaken family and their inability to confront things? Percy just looked down at her cigarette and then put it out. She looked visibly more relaxed, as she hugged him tightly, wrapping her arms around him.

"There! That wasn't so hard, was it?" she laughed lightly. He didn't smile back at her. "Let's go in…"

"Alright," Percy had no energy to walk back into the house. He wanted to sit outside and disappear.

He didn't want to see Gloria stare at him like he hadn't told her all of his important secrets. He didn't want Stephen to pretend that his near suicide attempt didn't happen. This was worse than he could ever imagine. It was worse than any possibility that he had calculated in his mind. Percy bore out his soul and nobody cared anymore. Not his new shiny muggle family, not his real family who was enthusiastically packing his things and not his brothers, who hated him.

He walked inside to say his final goodbyes. As he turned to face Stephen and Gloria, she nodded to him like he was a plumber about to fix their bathroom (showering ten times a day was not sustainable apparently. They actually did need a plumber). Stephen gave him a half-embrace, making it as short as possible. Percy bit down his lip. This just felt wrong.

He looked into their faces and almost told them about Clarence. He trusted them and now, he…he was leaving. How was that fair? Because he remembered? Because Gloria didn't want him to recall his _wonderful_ childhood memories?

As they walked outside, Arthur placed a hand on his arm and looked at him with a soft expression.

Percy just looked down because he didn't want to admit how much it pained him to leave this household. Arthur had gotten the message and moved his hand away from Percy's arm, looking just about as dejected as he felt. Great. Now his father hated himself because his son didn't want to live with him anymore. Just wonderful.

Lucy walked along with them. "Hey, Percy," she said softly. "It must be exciting now, isn't it? Going back home?"

Percy nodded his head very weakly. "Yes," he said. He'd seen Snape more excited at marking his paper.

They were talking about Grimmauld Place and how they were living there for the past few months, but Percy wasn't really listening on account of the fact that he felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. He didn't want to use his wand anymore. He didn't want to see Fred and George after the massive row they had. He missed Stephen's car already. He already missed the disgusting watery oaty slop that Gloria made him eat every morning. He already missed taking a pill instead of having to brew a fifteen-step potion just so he could deal with the splitting pain in his body.

And he was already really missing Audrey. He supposed they weren't together anymore, on account of him being a _different person!_

"Nobody's gone off to Hogwarts yet," his father explained. "Dumbledore said he wouldn't mind if they join later. Nobody could attend on account of thinking you died," he offered a weak smile, "but now that everything's back to normal…"

"I suppose," Percy couldn't believe that his real family had done that for him. Because he just felt alone and unloved. He felt like they'd just done what _they_ wanted because they hated the idea that he actually felt better in a muggle home. How could they mourn his death so much and then in the same second, do what fitted them? What was convenient for them?

 _I'm ill, aren't I? I have a problem, don't I?_ He was so confused. _Does it not matter what I want anymore?_

"You can show me those paintings too," Lucy whispered. "When you have the time. I'd really like to see them."

Percy realised he hadn't taken his Burrow painting or any of his other paintings from his room. But he didn't think he could face having to take them away. "As if I would do that, Lucille," he told her in his stiffest voice, seeing her face flash with pain. "I have a real job." Percy thought that he was hurting her by belitting her job, but she just looked sorry for him.

"What job is that?" Lucky asked him instead, but Percy didn't answer her. He didn't know if he was still employed. He doubted it very much. "Oh? You don't have a job is what you want to tell me, Charlie?" she challenged.

"What are you two talking about?" Molly asked, eying Lucy like she was attempting to seduce him into bed.

By the time that they were in Grimmauld Place, Percy felt faint because he hadn't eaten the whole day. The whole building was dark and ominous as his mood. He couldn't believe that his family was staying here, even if it was just to be safe. It was elegant, but it also made him want to stab himself in the chest (not that this was anything new, mind you).

In the dimness of the building, he went to the fridge and opened it. All he could see was yoghurt pots, cartons of milk, and a chocolate spread that was mostly made from milk. The apples looked bruised, which meant that he'd rather eat parchment paper than chance that. He didn't know when they'd bought the bread so he couldn't eat that either. Percy closed the cupboards that he'd been peering at, feeling his stomach twist in pain. He hadn't eaten in so long that he was feeling very nauseous. Percy was afraid if he didn't eat, he will pass out and everyone would hate him for being selfishly ill.

He wished he had some keys to run down to the store. Percy rather liked driving Stephen's car, even if he didn't understand a thing about car models. Not that he understood broomstick models either, to be completely fair.

He still had muggle money in his pockets. He didn't care if he never saw another Galleon in his life.

Everyone was already asleep. It had been such a tiring few days. Apparently, even the twins had been out by eight. His parents had dozed off the second that they got here, looking like they were really finally allowing themselves to sleep. They were so tired from all his drama that even miles away from the Shephard's, everyone's lives had been turned around. Percy did his usual nightly rounds that he hadn't done in ages: he saw Ron snoring like he was choking on a piece of bread during his sleep. The twins had their limbs sprawled everywhere and Charlie was so exhausted his drool was all over the place. Ginny was so tired she hadn't bothered changing into her pyjamas (he contemplated waking her up just to change into her nightgown but he doubted she'd be pleased with him). Bill's usually tidy, thin hair was in more knots than Percy's stomach. His parents were so tired they didn't even wake up when Percy accidentally banged his knee against the wall when he left.

His whole family was almost comatose. He was just as shattered as they were, but he was in pain and didn't feel like making a pain potion for it. Nor did he have the ingredients for it, mind you. In the darkness of Grimmauld Place, Percy closed his eyes and felt tears dripping down his cheeks, silently.

Percy didn't even know where in God's name he was supposed to be _sleeping_. So much for his parents wanting him home!

He sat down and picked up his muggle book from his rucksack. This was the book that Audrey gave him to read 'if he liked to read this sort of stuff'. No, he did not like to entertain his mind with romantic rubbish like this, but he supposed that now that he had absolutely nothing else to do besides stare at the ceiling, he could read her five-hundred-page drivel. Whilst Percy was sure he could predict the outcome just by reading the back of the book, he tried to give it the benefit of the doubt. Percy turned to open a lamp and was unnerved by the fact that it was not attached to any form of electricity.

Obviously, he was transitioning back into his wizarding life well. Percy wished he had at least taken some oxycodone tabs with him!

After the first few pages, he started underlining all the things that he knew that nobody would say in real life. Because 'I think you're smart, funny and beautiful' was not something you would say to someone when you met them for the first time. How did you even concur enough data in a chance meeting that anyone was smart or funny? Percy didn't even know how Audrey looked like the first time he met her, and then just happened to notice her rosy cheeks and little hands a few weeks later. It wasn't exactly he just had one look at her and knew that he was infatuated with her! How could he be? He couldn't even choose a chocolate bar in less than five minutes, much less someone to spend the rest of his life with. But he supposed that being disoriented in time, space and person might make romance a little less conventional to begin with! By the third chapter, he realised that he was going to be returning back her pristine copy battered in more ink than Severus Snape's Potions essays.

Percy had been using a pen that he had in his pocket, which was much more convenient than having to dab his overly expensive quill in an inkpot. He didn't have to worry about getting any ink on his trousers with a pen. By the fourth chapter, Percy put down the book because he didn't want to read anymore in case his brain started to melt. _The Persistence of Memor_ y suddenly took on a new meaning. Dali probably got the inspiration from when he started to doze off right after Gala started talking about how she just 'had' to have those new vintage pots from the stands in sunny Spain. Percy looked at his watch and realised how shockingly late it was, but he couldn't ignore the irritating pains in his body long enough to actually sleep.

He stood up and in wrinkled clothing (yes, seriously), walked outside of Grimmauld Place after he threw on Bill's coat.

Percy knew that he was still in muggle London when he was out. He took in a deep breath, relaxing into the mesmerising London streets. He wished he could capture the enticing stillness and the coolness of air in one of his paintings. But now, he had better things to do than fantasise about how to incorporate Dali's surreal elephants in a muggle London landscape. He walked down to the nearest payphone and put in some change. Percy knew Audrey's number by heart. He had a few bits of loose change in his pocket and was palming it in case he had to continue the call.

"Hello?" Audrey sounded like she'd just been woken up from her sleep. Percy imagined her sat in her bed, in her favourite seashell-coloured fuzzy robes and her face covered in more goop than Molly's iced cupcake collection. "Who is this?"

"It's me. It's Charlie…well, I suppose I'm not Charlie anymore. My real name is Percy." Percy said breathlessly, but he didn't sound ecstatic about regaining all twenty years of memories. That seemed to be the theme of the day, wasn't it? "Audrey, I…I remember everything now. I remember everything that's ever happened to me."

Audrey was silent on the other end of the line and Percy was afraid that she'd just slam the phone down and refuse to talk to him again. Instead she asked, "Couldn't you tell me that you remembered everything _tomorrow?_ It's not like you're going to lose it again, are you? It's one in the bloody morning!" she yawned. "I'll come by to your house tomorrow!"

"You were right about the fire," Percy smiled weakly, and then heard his heart racing in his chest.

"I was?" Audrey sounded surprised. "I was right about you being in the London alleyway fire?"

"Of course, you were," answered Percy with a weak smile. "As for visiting me…that might not be possible considering the Shephard's have kicked me out after I have announced that I was no longer suffering from memory loss. I suppose as I emerged, they were afraid of losing the things that made Charlie…well, Charlie, who as you know now is a very fictional character," Percy laughed weakly. How had he been Charlie for the last five months? "I suppose you feel the same."

"I don't know," Audrey replied, sounding uncertain. "You're… you're a different person now, aren't you?"

"I suppose I am, but I just… couldn't understand why everyone is so keen to let me leave now as if we didn't share all these experiences together," Percy whispered. "Audrey, I almost… did something this morning. Right after I—well, I might have almost…I almost swallowed a whole bottle of pills and then I might have strategised to perhaps attempt suicide by depleting my body of its low circulating blood volume. But then when I came around again, Stephen just let me leave and I…I feel so conflicted. Even with their explanation, I just can't believe that I'd been cast aside after what happened."

Audrey was silent and the longer she was silent for, the more anxious Percy felt. "Audrey?" he asked.

 _"Depleting my body of its circulating blood volume?"_ she spat out, sounding furious and frightened. "You meant that you were going to slice your wrists right after you swallowed the contents of Stephen's medicine cabinet?"

Percy felt all the blood drain from his face. "That's the jest of it," he replied. He was sick of people forgetting that he had to be really unwell for him to consider doing something of that magnitude. They were chastising him like he was a little child that had his hand in the proverbial biscuit tin—or in his case, a tub of ice-cream at three in the morning. "I understand you're upset with me. Particularly when you were aware that I knew Lucille Antoinette Dencen, but I assure you that—"

"Yes, well! What did you want me to do?" Audrey asked. "My boyfriend, Charlie, was found to have some sort of super secret special connection with my best friend's sister, who has absolutely no flaws whatsoever!"

There was a moment of silence between them and then Audrey said, "Um…uh— _Percy?"_ she sounded uncertain.

"Yes, our wonderful connection… well, Lucy married the man that raped me for fourteen years," Percy reminded her. "And then she thought that it would be appropriate to name my rapist's son after me."

There was a moment of silence on Audrey's end. "She… she doesn't know, does she?" her voice was low.

"No," Percy said, feeling his throat ache. "I don't think you understand that besides you, nobody else knows."

He heard Audrey's soft sobs. "You have to tell someone," she said, and then he thought of Lucy telling her about Audrey's breast cancer. He'd known all along that there was something there that Audrey was not telling him, something that made her put on more glitter on her lashes than a first year's star chart. "You can't keep this all to yourself."

"Stephen knew I almost killed myself," Percy said very softly. "And he let me leave his house, Audrey. I don't feel particularly forthcoming now. I suppose every time I say something to someone, it just—"

 _BEEEEEP_. As if on cue, the horrible universe had ended his call. Percy felt sick, as if his words didn't matter anymore.

Percy put in another coin, dialling up her number again. But even as she picked up, she didn't say another word. He could hear her breathing on the other end of the line. He supposed this wasn't the right time to ask, was it?

"The call ended? I think," Audrey said softly. "So, you're not going to tell anyone?" she sounded torn. "I just…"

"I don't think I will," Percy admitted, biting down his lower lip. "But I have to ask, um…are we still together? Are you still my girlfriend? Or must I ask again considering I'm a different person?"

"Well, I suppose that I've seen enough evidence to give Percy a chance. After all, he seems to be much less awkward," Audrey chuckled but he could hear that she'd been crying. "But I hope Charlie isn't too cross when I tell him I've met someone else," she said, and Percy smiled weakly. He wished he could see her right now and kiss her. He supposed that he could apparate into her house, but the thought of doing any kind of magic made him feel…unnatural almost.

Which was hilarious, considering that he was a pureblood wizard. He lived his whole life practicing magic.

"Audrey, I love you," Percy suddenly felt courageous, even though he realised it was stupid.

He felt his heartbeat rapidly because that was the first time that he said those words to her. He could feel the pitter-patter of his old plimsols as he inched backwards. He lived in this glass-box for the next ten seconds. And then he remembered that he was so anxious to talk to Audrey that he, Percy Weasley, was stood there in wrinkled clothes. He was wearing someone else's coat.

"I wanted to talk to you so badly that I didn't even wipe down the payphone before I dialled your number," Percy whispered to her. "I'm wearing one of my brother's coat and I'm sure he hadn't washed it in days and—"

The line cut at the end again, but Percy couldn't bring himself to dial Audrey's number again. Great. He had professed his love for his girlfriend over a grotty payphone next to his family's safehouse. At one in the bloody morning. And he didn't even know if she felt the same way.

Percy took a deep breath, and then put the phone down.

He walked back into Grimmauld Place. When he made it to the kitchen, he decided to have a cup of tea and add a little sugar even if there was no dairy-free creamer or soy milk to add to it. He was starting to feel really dizzy from the lack of food. As Percy poured sugar packets into his cup with shaky hands, he wondered if he should try sleeping. He was so tired, but he was in so much physical pain. He pulled up his oversized shirt and noticed that his bandages looked wonky and—

 _"Mmph!"_ Percy felt two hands wrap around his neck, and he knew that it was Clarence even before he saw him.

Clarence loosened his hold enough so that they were staring at each other, face-to-face. His desperate, lust-filled blue eyes bore into Percy's soul. His hot breath was on Percy's neck, which made his neck hairs stand up.

"O-oh, P-Percy, Percy…P-P-Percy," Clarence whispered into his ears as Percy's whole world turned grey.

He gasped when he felt Clarence's hold on his neck tighten to the point where he just blacked out. The last thing that he remembered was the whole world spinning and seeing all the stars in Dumbledore's favourite purple starry robes.

When he woke up, Percy's heart was racing in his chest because he was stood there in front of his parents' bedside, who were fast asleep. One of Clarence's hand was clutching Percy's throat, and the other one was unzipping his trousers. Percy swallowed the lump in his throat because he felt like he was about to faint. He felt stuffy and was sweating through his clothes, which were rapidly being discarded on the floor. He felt filthy, as muddy as Ron was after Quidditch.

"No, no," Percy whispered. He could barely speak at all between the hand clutching his throat. "P-please… no, no, n-no."

"I'm-I'm sorry," Clarence stuttered, which made Percy feel tears burn into his eyes. Sorry? That was all he had to say?

"Don't... don't touch me," Percy's lip wobbled. "Please, don't…" he whispered softly. This was sick.

Who started choking you in front of your sleeping parents on purpose? Clarence looked amused by this. How could he be?

Clarence pulled off a new scarf. It was beetroot red, and new. "Your-your mum made this for me y-yesterday," Clarence told him into his ear, and Percy wished that that valve problem in 1992 killed him. But not as much as he wished that he, himself, was dead. How did that make any sense? That he wished for his death more than he did for Clarence's? "I-I'm sorry that-that it has to be this-this way," he said. "But this is the end for you. You-you… can't l-l-live anymore, not after-after what you did! I c-can't risk you telling them. They-they know. I have to-too much to lose. You-you have n-nothing…"

Before he could say anything, Percy felt the scarf tightening around his neck. His father let out a long snore.

"You-you told him about it, didn't you?" Clarence asked. "I-I like…it when-when I have an audience, Percy. You-you know that. Do-do you think that things are going to change now that you're back? Everyone t-t-thought you were dead and look at how they're happily sleeping away! Not-not knowing what's happening r-r-right before their eyes."

"T-that's not true," Percy weakly argued. Even his fingers had turned purple and blue. "P-people love me."

"W-who loves you?" Clarence stared at Percy like he was a third year entering Hogsmeade for the first time.

"My…I…" Percy warned in a whisper, because there was no way he was waking his parents up to this. No way.

He kissed the back of his neck and Percy shuddered, feeling his stomach coil in disgust.

"Is… is that me?" Percy caught himself across from the mirror across the room and realised how disgusting he was. He was bony and had too many cuts. The whole of him was filthy even after taking one million baths per year. His hands looked dusty and felt like they were slicked with oil, grime and sweat. How could anyone ever love him?

"Yes," Clarence's hands moved down to Percy's hips. "T-t-that's you."

Percy felt hot tears burning down his cheeks. What was he saying? What was he thinking? Why was it like this every time?Before Clarence could lean down to kiss him, Percy bit his hand, and then bolting straight out of the room into the hall.

Panting, Percy felt all the blood rush to his face. He felt a sharp shooting pain in his abdomen and the room was spinning.

He couldn't get rid of the image of his parents sleeping as Clarence had his hands all over him. It chilled him.

 _"PERCY!"_ Clarence obviously didn't care about waking anyone up. And why should he? Nobody ever woke up. Everyone was so asleep. The Order of the fucking Phoenix lived in these quarters and he was still alone.

"Nobody cares," Percy kept telling himself, sounding like an escaped mental patient. "Nobody cares, nobody, nobody…"

Before Percy could think of where to go, Clarence had attacked him. He was on the floor in seconds.

"No!" Percy tried to wiggle out of his hold, but Clarence had his hands around his scarf again, tightening it around Percy's throat. Feeling lightheaded, Percy tried to tug at the scarf, trying to get it away from him as he felt Clarence pull down his trousers. "Don't touch me! Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" how could everyone be sleeping? Did Clarence drug them?

"S-stop it," Clarence hissed at him. "Or I'll have you when-when you're d-d-dead instead."

Percy continued to try and escape his hold, but Clarence tightened the scarf around so tightly that Percy only saw fuzzy grey spots in his vision. Clarence didn't want him to completely lose consciousness, but he felt so weak. His body was listless, and he hadn't eaten. He could practically feel his ribs hit the ground. He hadn't noticed that his skin was so papery. He didn't know that he'd gotten so thin to begin with. When did he have visible ribs to even start with? Had he always been like this? Percy's heart stopped when he realised that there was a faint, red-coloured Dark Mark on Clarence's arm.

"Do you want to k-k-know something, Percy?" Clarence asked him in his ear. "I'll-I'll let you know _all_ about this."


	33. I Never Liked The Forest

_i absolutely love the comments i've been getting in the last few chapters. i've updated this rather quickly mostly because i feel like if i press on, i might actually see the end of this one! meanwhile, The Devil Wears Second-Hand Robes is a mess. i have no idea where it's going anymore, much less when it's ending._

 _to **SolelyReader** , thanks for the catch! i sometimes miss these. i fixed that chapter so it says Prewett. i even sometimes get confused between Clement / Clarence / Charlie. all these C names are killing me...fortunately, i wouldn't have to use Charlie half as much!  
_

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Thirty-Three: I Never Liked The Forest

* * *

Percy's bloodshot blue eyes were staring up at a desperate Clarence. He was dragging Percy's limbering body across the forest. He was covered in a thick layer of grime and dirt. And even the obsessive-compulsive part of him didn't even care anymore.

He had never been so tired in his life. His throat ached, and Clarence's beetroot-red scarf was still around Percy's neck.

He was more than just filthy. He was so tainted that he didn't think that there was a psychiatrist that could ever help him. Percy didn't even think he could ever admit to himself what happened—much less a fifty-year-old bloke that drank cheap coffee to cut down on costs. Every time Percy tried to process the events of the night; he had the worst crushing chest pains. Oh, and he was like an open tap, crying every three minutes. He had probably managed to dehydrate himself.

His lips felt crackled and his eyes pained. Percy was in trousers again, but they were tight and covered with… Clarence's…he didn't want to think about it. It was the crack of dawn and Percy watched Clarence drag him to the river.

Clarence was going to kill him. Percy told too many people about being raped. He knew about the Dark Mark. It was over.

"Are-are you hungry?" Clarence asked. Percy just stared at him vacantly. What was that? An invitation for a last supper?

"N-n… no," Percy looked at the water and saw Salvador Dali's _Metamorphosis of_ _Narcissus_ staring back at him.

"Of-of course you're…you're not," Clarence mumbled, looking at his half-naked body. Besides trousers on, Percy had very little on except for bandages. He even had a nosebleed, and about ten million fractures. He was a traumatic nightmare.

"You're-you're tiny," he said, looking at his body as if he was disgusted by how it looked like. Percy felt the same way.

Clarence grabbed his immaculate rucksack and pulled out a chocolate bar. "E-eat this," he ordered. "Eat it now."

"I'm-I'm not—" Percy's throat hurt so much. He didn't know if he could ever eat anything again.

 _"EAT IT!"_ Clarence demanded loudly, shoving the chocolate bar into Percy's hands.

Hearing his heartbeat into his chest, Percy reached over with a shaky hand to peel off the gaudy-coloured wrapper.

He started nibbling off the end of the chocolate bar. It was very sweet. He wondered if he was going to choke on it.

Even if Clarence didn't want to kill him, Percy knew that he had to. He'd gone too far. Percy's neck was covered in finger-shaped bruises, his whole face was covered in more shades than his palette knife, and his lip was swollen and busted.

There wasn't a glamour charm in the whole universe that could make him look acceptable enough to take back home.

After Percy tried to swallow the last square, Clarence grabbed his arm out and stretched it out like that would magically make him look any different. Clarence just stared at his arm, which was covered in bloodied bandages.

"Godric, I-I can't…" Clarence looked like he didn't want to kill him. "You're s-so young and-and…" he said.

Clarence had covered him with new bandages, which were seeping blood now. It was a miracle that he hadn't even died yet. The pain was almost dulled by the fact that it was all going to be over now. But there was a gnawing feeling in Percy's stomach. He didn't want it to be over. How did that make any sense? He almost attempted suicide this morning!

He felt Clarence's hand move across the pristinely wrapped bandages. "Y-y-you look so…" he paused.

 _"Hmm?"_ Percy looked up lazily. He felt like he was just about to vomit, and he didn't even care.

He was staring him for the last two minutes. "How-how…how come nobody…?" Clarence didn't even finish his sentence.

Clarence was standing his immaculate robes that somehow didn't have a single speck of dirt on them, Percy wondered what was going to happen to him. Was he just going to wait for his body to turn up? How long would it take?

Clarence leaned down to stroke his hair. As he felt Clarence's hand run through his curly locks, Percy reached up to wrap his arms around him, sobbing into his chest.

He was so bloody desperate for human affection that he was actually hugging the man who was going to kill him…pathetic! Just when he thought he couldn't sink any lower, he somehow did. Whenever Percy swallowed, all he could taste was blood. But Clarence just looked so conflicted that he socked him in the face for that. Percy reeled back in confusion, as Clarence grabbed his broken arm to drag him by. The rocks were so sharp and knobbly as they dragged against his back. Percy whimpered in pain, seeing stars in front of his eyes. Was it her? Norma? Was it her again?

He looked down at the river himself. Clarence's hands were shaking. "P-Percy?" he whispered. "I'm-I'm sorry."

"I…I don't want t-to die," Percy said all of a sudden, even though he had almost swallowed a whole load of pills that morning. He didn't really want to die. He just wanted to go back to the Shephard's so badly. "Please."

"I-I know," Clarence replied, and he sound the most honest he had in twenty years. "That's…that's why I'm-I'm sorry."

Percy closed his eyes to ready for the end, but Clarence just stared at him with glossy eyes.

"I-I can't," Clarence mumbled, as he crouched down on his knees. His beautiful clothes were probably dirty now. Percy was probably experiencing some kind of reverse Stockholm Syndrome, because he almost felt bad for him! Bad for what? Bad that he wouldn't be able to chuck him into the river and wait for the body to float up after a few days?

Clarence just sat there, staring at him with glossy eyes. After twenty years, Percy saw him lose control. It was jarring.

"What…what's going to happen to me?" Percy managed to say through his aching, swollen throat.

Percy tried to lift his arms, but the pain was unreal. Everything felt so wet. He was losing so much blood. How was he still awake when he was actively bleeding? Of course, when he wondered that, he found himself slipping away.

"Nothing," he heard Clarence say after a pause. "N-nothing will happen to you. You'll-you'll be okay," he promised.

In the last few moments of consciousness, the only thing that Percy could say was, "Thank you." _Thank you?_

The next thing he remembered was waking up in the middle of the forest again, with his whole body wet and cold.

Percy was still covered in new bandages, but they were bloody too. He was shivering because it was so cold at night. He turned to the side and actually threw up all over his arm and the forest. He felt his chest ache with every breath that he took in. His life looked so bleary, wet and grey. He felt so alone, and he was terrified. Did Clarence leave him here to die?

He couldn't move his arm. He sobbed relentlessly because of the searing pain. He couldn't walk. Everything hurt.

Yet all he could think about was Salvador Dali. He thought of an arrogant young man leaving school because he thought that he was better than everyone. He thought of an old man dying from heart failure. He thought of a wheel of cheese in Spain that had given life to a legacy. How did those three things make the same man?

Percy thought of a painter that he loved, that he knew he would not be able to stand if he'd met in real life.

He thought of the _Metamorphosis of Narcissus_ , an oil painting of a man that fell in love with his own reflection so much so that the Gods had cursed him into a flower. A whole man into reduced to white-yellow-something petals. A man that disappeared, the only thing remaining of him being the 'hallucinatingly white oval of his head'. The head that Dali named as the 'chrysalis of hidden biological desires'. A head that will 'become the flower'. _The new narcissus_ , Dali called it. Gala had been his wife, his narcissus… a woman that had cheated on him multiple times during their marriage, a woman he'd bought a castle for, yet he was not allowed to walk into without her permission. His muse who he was afraid would leave him…a woman whose infidelity left him to beat her to the point where he broke two of her ribs. When Percy breathed in, he could feel Gala's pain. When he closed his eyes, he felt the Valium being pumped into his veins, as Gala fed Dali enough medications to lose his ability to hold his beloved brush. Even with the parkinsonism and weekly orgies, even after he beat her and even with the affairs… he loved her to the point that when she died, he lost himself.

He tried to end his life, but he was not allowed to die. Geniuses like him were required for 'the progress of humanity.'

 _A genius_ , Percy mused in pain. A genius that stopped eating and clawed at his face when his wife died. A genius that had died alone, in a house, with a broken heart that was slowly failing him for years. A broken heart that required a battery-implanted pacemaker just to beat. A genius that, in his final moments of the world, was alone in the castle where his dead wife had been buried. A genius that had to live fifty-three years knowing that he would sign his portraits in his blood for her, yet she would not shed a tear for him. He would 'polish Gala to make her shine, make her the happiest possible, caring for her more than myself, because without her, it would all end'. A nameless woman without him, but he had always believed that he was nothing without her. He, the extravagant, extraordinary Salvador Dali, loved Gala as long as the sun kissed the earth and as long as he was still drawing breaths into his chest. And even beyond.

He loved her enough that without her, he died… and yet he beat her. Percy moved his hand to his swollen, bloodied face. He dragged his nails across his face, feeling the blood seep from under his papery skin.

Was this how Dali felt? His heart aching, his stomach empty, with his face as disfigured as his surrealist paintings?

Percy was no genius. He was nobody. He had no mark in the world. His paintings were in a house far away with people that did not want him anymore. His other paintings were in a Gringott's account under a false name. He was not famous. He was not the Minister of Magic. He did not feel like anyone's brother, son, or friend. He did not feel like a wizard or a muggle or anything at all. In that second, he was not obsessive nor compulsive. He closed his eyes and he could imagine the water in Salvador's lungs. He could see Spain before him, even though he had never been there. And then he saw all the colours of the world, vivid at first, and then fade away like bangs of fireworks before his eyes.

An image came to his mind, and he had the worst yearning in the world to paint. If only he could…if only…

When he woke up again, he was no longer in a forest freezing to death. He was in a hospital, attached to wires.

If he was actively dying, he might have been persuaded for someone to put in one, not fifteen and—and a catheter!

They had stuffed a tube into his…Percy was feeling dizzy, staring at the dark-coloured catheter. The thought of a forty-year-old woman he'd never met seeing his urine made his skin crawl. He whimpered in pain when he tried to move his hand. He looked up and noticed that there was a blood bag. He was being transfused with blood! Someone else's blood products were circulating through his body right this very second. He looked down and noticed that his other arm was in the process of being covered in bandages. A nurse was wrapping the last bit of white gauze around his arm, which looked like it had been knitted like one of his mum's Christmas sweaters. Had they operated on him? How had they even found him?

He felt unsettled. All he could feel was the wet, pale-green grass. He was shivering from the maddening cold.

"Percy," he heard a voice that made his heart leap in his chest. He looked up and saw Gloria standing there, pale and quiet. She was wearing a white jumpsuit and had her hair in a bun. She looked like she was a five-year-old that had gotten herself lost in a shopping centre. "Percy, are you okay? Well…do you feel okay? Do you feel _better_ I mean? Now that…"

Percy offered a soft smile, feeling his lip twitch. He felt his stomach churn. He had a tube in his nose. He…

"Do you want to take another shower?" Stephen offered, as Percy looked over at him. He had been holding his other hand that was being pumped with a million units of blood per minute. How did they find him in a forest in wizarding London? "The nurses just had you cleaned, because of the…um, number of wounds but if you want another one then…"

Percy must've given them a coronary when he said, "Not…not in particular." He noticed _The Daily Prophet_ on the bed. _The Daily Prophet?_ The wizarding newspaper?

"You don't want a shower?" Gloria reiterated sceptically, and he nodded his head. "Oh, yes, well, I suppose that I could ask them if you could shower by yourself. I wouldn't expect you to want someone else to help you bathe after…after…what happened to you. I suppose you'd want some privacy. I mean no one fault you for it, can they? Well, if…if you could take a shower all by yourself, do you think you might want one?" she asked sweetly.

Percy just stared at her with glassy blue eyes. "I'd rather not for now," he whispered weakly. "Thank you."

He grabbed the nurse's wrist, and probably gave her a fright of her life. She gawked back at him. She was just a little thing.

"Did you procure a…rape kit?" Percy rasped out and watched her just stare back at him. They didn't take one, did they?

"W-w-what?" all the blood drained out of Gloria's face. He felt his heart hammer in his chest, because although they'd just sterilised his whole body for an operation, they did it before they took the bloody kit. This was the first time in his life he felt truly clean, but it made him feel empty. He had no evidence anymore. "Darling, why would you want a rape kit for? There's nobody there to convict. Clarence killed himself, so it's not like you could take it to court anymore but…"

Percy shot up, feeling numb. He must still be blood-depleted, hypotensive or finally lost his sanity. Clarence had... died? Clarence had... killed himself? All he could feel was numbness and malcontent. He felt like he'd put on five stones.

He never thought that anything like that would ever happen. "Clarence…" Percy paused. "Is gone?"

 _"AND GOOD RIDDANCE!"_ was Gloria's first reaction. Percy felt his chest tightening. Was he really mourning his rapist's death? Was he really grieving for him? Percy felt crushed, and he could feel tears threatening to pool out of his eyes. He let out a few soft sobs. "His wife dropped by yesterday. The gall of her! I'm having a hard time believing that nobody knew that a six-year-old was being inappropriately treated in front of his parents! In their own house! The things that Clarence has mentioned—a seven-year-old in a party! A Christmas party!" she paused when she realised what she was saying.

Percy felt his throat burn. "How… how did you know about that?" he felt naked and disgusting. "I never told anyone."

"That was you too?" Gloria realised that she must've done something wrong because she was playing with the button on her jumpsuit.

There was a heavy silence in the room and Percy wished that he could just melt and disappear.

"How-how did you know?" Percy reiterated. He felt the nurse's hand on him, about to tell him to calm down or he'd push himself into heart failure and be buried six feet under. Obviously, he didn't have a dead wife to keep him company.

"Percy, I'm…" Stephen grabbed _The Daily Prophet_ at the foot of the bed. He didn't look happy about its contents but gave it to him anyway, almost reluctantly so. Percy opened the paper and felt his whole world change as he took in a single paper. "I apologise that I had to be the one to show you this. I'd rather it be someone that could… talk to you about it."

"Talk to me?" Percy didn't understand. They were talking about this now, weren't they? "Who would talk to me…?"

 _PERCY WEASLEY FOUND STRANGLED IN FOREST AFTER BEING ABDUCTED BY PREWETT DEATH EATER. CLARENCE PREWETT'S SHOCKING SEVENTEEN-PAGE SUICIDE NOTE REVEALED HORRIBLE SECRET._

He supposed he didn't have to worry about anyone believing him. Percy was stoic, realising that the whole wizarding world knew about the deepest, darkest secret. He wanted to throw _The Daily Prophet_ in the fire. He felt his cheeks coloured in deeply. Percy imagined Lucy laughing with the paper girl this morning. Then she would pay her a sickle for an issue of this rubbish. He could imagine her sitting down with her one-week-old baby named Percy, only to read about _this_.

"No…nobody could talk to me about this," whispered Percy. He felt like he'd accidentally swallowed Clarence's scarf.

Percy flipped the paper and realised that the whole paper was covered in Clarence's detailed note. All seventeen bloody pages. He could only glean at the sentences. Even dead, Clarence had taken something away from him. Not only did his everyone he loved had to find out about this in this manner, but he had to deal with the fact that a fifth year that just happened to fancy a quick read of his father's papers knew too? Along with a random mum with three children that just happened to have a habit of keeping up to date with her toast? His deepest, darkest secret was plastered on double-sided parchment paper for everyone to read... everyone! His school teachers, his classmates and Penelope Clearwater!

Percy felt so broken that all he could do was cry. They were going to read about it and then forget about him and…and…

As he read the first page of Clarence's suicide note, Percy felt his stomach tighten. This was so… personal. Graphic. Violent. The words that Clarence used to describe his six-year-old body made his skin crawl. How could they _print this?_

"Um… darling," Gloria pulled up his chin, unnerved. "Maybe you shouldn't… you shouldn't be reading this."

"Reading this?" Percy repeated incredulously, pulling the paper to his chest. "I-I lived through this!"

There was a moment of silence between them. Percy tried to calm himself down enough to read the details, but he physically couldn't. The way it was written, it was almost like it was a couple of different blokes that Clarence had done this to. But Percy knew that he was describing him. From explaining his 'snow-white skin' and 'beautiful eyes.' It was deplorable.

Percy shuddered, feeling the wetness of the ground against his back. Feeling the sticky, cold feeling in his bandages…

"Well, um…your family thought it would be easier for you if you didn't have to answer any questions in your wizarding hospital," Stephen tried to explain softly after the nurse left. "And we promised to keep an eye on you and tell them if you've woken up. You've been out of it for days now, Percy. Your whole family come in every night to see you. They're absolutely shocked about what happened. Even Glory felt bad for how your mum was coping with things last night."

"That other Charlie was crying for hours," Gloria mentioned. Percy felt jealous almost. The 'other' Charlie. What other Charlie? "Having to read about a seventeen-page suicide note that depicted all that detail is ghastly. I…I couldn't continue reading the whole thing."

They couldn't even read it. What a joke. Percy's lip quivered. "Well, that's…that's unfortunate," he whispered.

Percy just stared at the wall, feeling his heart race in his chest. He bet his siblings all hated him for worrying them so much.

"I don't want them to know that I've woken up," Percy moved his broken arm to pick up the blanket. He was in so much pain and Gloria looked at him like he was mad. He knew he'd broken it, but yesterday's adrenaline dulled the pain. "I'd rather have a few hours to myself," he'd rather be depressed and lonely in bed, locked in his mind for the next three hours.

He was scared to see his family. If they saw him, all they'd ask about was why he'd never told anyone about Clarence.

"Why don't you want to see them?" Gloria already had a pen out and was writing an owl. "They're worried about you."

Percy wanted to yell at her and ask her why she was here since he wasn't her precious bloody Charlie but then just relaxed into the bed. He had never felt as unwanted as he did since he had ceased being Charlie. He felt like he'd let everyone down. As if who he truly was just wasn't good enough. Charlie had daily therapy and strangers welcoming him into his home, cajoling him for his accomplishments. Percy, who his parents had been looking forward to seeing for months and was suspected to be dead, was hauled off to Grimmauld Place against his will. He didn't even have a room there. He had made up his blankets and was going to sleep on the couch on the day where he had been beaten, raped and almost killed.

He opened his mouth to explain, but then just gave up. Percy just gave up entirely.

"Percy, you have to tell me," Gloria told him. "How…how could I begin to explain why you don't want them around?"

This felt like a business transaction. Would she talk to Charlie like that? Much less Charlie after he almost died.

Why should he explain to anyone? When even after almost dying from hypothermia out in the woods, people were questioning his decisions. Why should he say anything? He just kept his mouth tight into a thin line. Just let them do what they want. They obviously didn't care about what he thought. They obviously didn't respect that he knew what he wanted, with him being so obviously mental. Percy pulled his hospital duvet up, still shivering from the cold.

"F… fine," Gloria stammered, looking uncertain. "If you don't want to tell me, then I suppose I can't help you, can I?"

"Gloria, for God's sake, the boy was almost beat to death," Stephen spat out. "How could you be like—?"

"Can you please leave?" Percy cut them off with a soft voice. "I don't mean to be so crass. Obviously, I am forever in debt to you because of what you've done for me but… I-I just want to sleep a little, if that's alright."

"Of course," Stephen offered him a smile that didn't reassure him in the slightest. "Doctor Bareham dropped by a few times. I'll let him know that you're awake because he desperately wants to talk to you."

"Thank you," Percy replied. "That would be nice." Because what was he going to say? He didn't want to see Dr Bareham? He didn't want to see anyone ever again? He just wanted to lie in the bed, completely detached from all forms of reality?

After they left, Percy picked up the pillow and buried his head into it, sobbing softly. He really was grieving him.

The look that he'd given him last night in the forest. Even Clarence, before he died, felt like he'd done an injustice to him. He called him _tiny_ and _young_ and couldn't go through with killing him. He cried so much he felt like he was choking on Clarence's chocolate all over again.

He cried until he felt as broken as he did, sprawled out on the ground and slowly wasting away in the forest alone.

Percy already missed Clarence. God, what was wrong with him? He missed a man that had apparently fractured his skin, painted his face black-and-blue, cut up his lip until it was bruised and swollen, broken six of his ribs, his right arm, his collarbone, dislocated both of his knees and tried to choke him with a scarf about a million times last night. But Clarence was the only one. He was the only person in the world that knew what actually happened to him. As detailed as his suicide note was, how could anyone explain fourteen years' worth of torture? In a couple of pages? Percy felt cheated on. Like all his experiences could be condensed in a few words. Everyone knew about it now, and yet he'd never felt so alone before. He was right. He shouldn't have told anyone. It was better when he was just a pompous git…

Because at least he could kid himself, telling himself that if people knew, then things would be _different_.

Percy shook. He felt like he'd lost someone that had been a crucial part of his existence. He felt numb and detached and like the surgeon in the operating theatre thought that his kidney looked a little mealy, so he took it out without telling him.

It must have only been half an hour later that he had to deal with his family. When Percy woke up and saw them, he felt a stab of pain because they all looked like ghosts. They were all deathly pale, and eerily quiet. Molly kept staring at him, at his wrecked bruised body. Before Percy could say anything, Molly pursed his lips together, and Percy wonder ed how it must be like to read news like this on a paper instead of hearing it from your own son. But it wasn't like Percy was particularly forthcoming. In fact, Percy was particularly sure that it was up to him, he wouldn't have told anyone this level of detail.

Percy and Molly locked glossy eyes together. Their facial expressions were indifferent. Percy had never noticed how young his mum was, how tired she looked like, and how absolutely shattered she looked like. Had she been like this all this time? He shuddered at the thought.

He opened his mouth to say something, but then decided against it. What could he say?

Then he saw her out of the corner of his eyes, and he sat up straight like he'd just downed down a toxic quantity of Amortentia. At the back of the room, Audrey Brown was stood holding a pile of papers, and wearing a rucksack. Her heart-shaped face looked particularly… _err_ , heart-shaped. She was wearing so much mascara that even with his four eyes, he could see it from where he sat. She was dressed in a pink ruffled frock, and white heels.

"Um…oh, um…" Audrey moved towards him, looking like she'd just had a fright. She was also balancing a box of dairy-free chocolate truffles into her hands that he was sure was overpriced and tasted like dirt. "Percy?" she said, taking him in.

"Yes…well, that is my name," Percy offered a weak smile. "I… I apologise for the things that I said over the phone."

"What did you…?" Audrey obviously had forgotten about him professing his undying love for her. As it dawned on her, her whole face flushed, and she ran her hand through her overly styled brown hair. "Oh, that! Yes… well…"

Her eyes kept trailing down his body, taking him all in. "Do…do you want some water?"

"Yes," Percy didn't really care about water, but he just didn't want to say no to her.

Percy's face was battered and bruised. His lips were swollen and one of his eyes were shut tight. His neck was covered in finger-shaped bruises and a gigantic bright purple bruise from Clarence's scarf. Apparently, trying to wash it off was an unsuccessful venture. He was wrapped in bandages. When he took a deep breath, he was wallowing in pain because of his rib fractures. His knees were in some kind of contraception which apparently, were called 'braces'. His right arm had been placed in a cast after a nurse bandaged him up, and his collarbones were not symmetrical.

She disappeared for a few minutes and he realised that everyone was holding their breaths.

"How are you feeling?" Molly asked inching in a little closer like he was a vicious Herbology plant.

"I suppose I'm alright," Percy replied softly. Usually, he'd lash out and ask her if she thought that he was fine considering the situation, but he genuinely had no energy to do so. And what would it accomplish other than put them all in a mood? "I apologise that you had to discover such a sensitive detail like this."

 _"I apologise that you had to discover such a sensitive detail like this,"_ Charlie reiterated in disbelief, looking at Percy with a vacancy in his eyes. The real Charlie, not a made-up fable and yet he couldn't help but feel the slightest twinge of jealousy and misplacement yet again. "That sounds like you're able to tell someone they might be sacked or that their workload is inefficient! It…it doesn't sound like someone that had been almost beaten to death and left out in the forest to die after he'd…"

"I understand," Percy weakly smiled. "What response would you want me to have?"

Charlie looked surprised by this answer and opened his mouth to say something but couldn't. What could he say to that?

"Well…I just thought…I…" Charlie looked wrangled, and Percy just waited for him patiently to say something. Something about how he didn't understand him, or how things didn't make any sense to him. "Well, I can't really say either, Perce. I don't know anyone that has ever gone through what you…so, how could I know what's the right way to act? It's just…I don't know what to say! And I just…you're just so quiet and…well, did you know Clarence wrote an owl to mum the night of? You wouldn't believe! He said that he wouldn't have felt like he needed to write all that for a suicide note because he was sure that you'd never actually tell people what happened to you. What kind of a sick, convoluted—"

Hearing Clarence's name like _that_ out of Charlie's mouth was so unnatural that Percy shuddered.

Percy glanced at _The Daily Prophet_ issue, which he didn't finish reading. "He's right," he softly replied.

As much as Percy did not want to admit it, he didn't know how he was going to tell anyone the gruesome details of what happened. He didn't think he could relive through the experience again without slicing a crucial part of his body off.

"I don't think I could envision a situation where I would lay out such vivid details about what happened," Percy admitted, running his hand through his hair. He had not read them all but the ones that he did read them left his stomach in a lurch. He couldn't imagine telling anyone any of this. He couldn't imagine telling _himself_ this. "I would be happy if none of it is ever mentioned again and we can just move back to something a little more…um…" he stammered, "Normal... I suppose. Yes, normal."

He met with Arthur, who just shook his head. "How can we not mention this again?" he asked. "It's killing you."

Arthur inched a little forward to him, and Percy had never seen that level of concentration on his father's face. "I talked to Gloria and Stephen," he said. "And they'd be happy to have you stay with them indefinitely. I doubt that you'd want to go back to the wizarding world with…all the publicity, and I doubt that you want to go back to Grimmauld Place or…the Burrow for that matter," his voice was wavering away. This was his childhood home.

"Unless you... want to go back," Bill offered, looking like he was still holding onto the fantasy.

Percy slowly digested this. Stephen and Gloria's house felt tainted now he'd been forced out. He couldn't shake off that feeling that they did not want him there. They'd rather have 'Charlie'. "No, I don't."

"And I suppose that we don't have to have you be protected by anyone considering that you remember…well…" Arthur's voice trailed off, but Percy didn't know how to explain that the thought of lifting a wand again made him want to wash his hands about a thousand times. He, a pureblood, had absolutely no interest in performing any kind of magic anymore. "But we can visit, can't we? I mean…we want to respect your wishes if you don't want us to but we're just—I…I…"

"As much as you like," Percy was surprised to realise that he truly met it. "Did you believe that…I'd deny you?"

Arthur opened his mouth but didn't say anything. Then his hands started shaking and he looked a little pale and tired. "You have a right to if you really wanted to," he flickered his eyes towards _The Daily Prophet_ article. "Merlin, Percy, I remember that night so vividly now… it was the time that you tried to get into bed with your mum and I and we turned you away because you were too old to be sleeping in the same bed as us and we'd just gotten Ron and Gin to sleep. It was, wasn't it?"

"I harbour…" Percy tried to find a nicer word for it, but he couldn't. "A lot of resentment towards that. But in theory, you couldn't have known, and I didn't understand at the time," he took a deep breath. This was such a heavy subject.

By then, Audrey had returned with a bottle of water for him. Percy accepted it graciously and took a few sips.

"Percy's going to go back to the Shephard's," Arthur announced to Audrey, as if this was an important piece of information. Audrey slowly nodded her head and then awkwardly placed a hand on his bed.

"Oh," Audrey looked genuinely surprised to hear this. "Well, I can't wait until…I can…"

"Audrey? Are you…alright?" Percy watched her crumble. She looked so overwhelmed that she just started to cry. And it was like that was the domino effect because as Percy sat up from his bedside, he noticed that hearing Audrey's soft sobs made his parents tear up. Fred and George, Ginny and Ron, who were more silent than ever, were rubbing away tears from their eyes. Charlie kept cleared his throat every thirty seconds, and Bill refused to maintain eye contact with him. Percy opened his mouth to speak, but then decided against saying anything. What could he say to begin with?

 _"I'm fine!"_ replied Audrey, shaking her head at him. "How could you…I can't believe that…God, Charlie…Percy…I…"

"Would you like some water?" Percy asked Audrey, offering the bottle that he barely drank. She shook her head. "Ah. You're afraid of it being contaminated with my particularly dangerous mouth bacteria?" he gave her a weak smile.

"No! I…" She laughed but it made her cry even harder, so he supposed it was a bit of a mixed result. "You're the worst!"

"Wait, was that a joke?" Fred balked at him like he was insane. "Did you seriously just joke about your own…? Especially after you just nearly died into the woods? Merlin, you must have got more brain damage than we thought," he gestured to his body, as if Percy's obsessive-compulsive disorder had led him to shocking foot pains and obvious arm problems.

Percy yawned, even though he wasn't sleepy. "I apologise if I've offended you," he said tiredly.

"Offended us?" George repeated, crossing his arms. "You know, Perce, we don't know what to say. I'm sure you realised this because we have no idea what's okay to talk about and what's not okay to say and…we don't want you to feel any worse. We just want you to know that we're…here," he paused as if trying to figure out a better word. "For you."

Percy nodded his head. "I'm aware," he replied. After a pause, he said, "Thank you."

"Thank you," echoed Ron. "You… remember us now. You remember everything between us but-but…you're still acting like we're strangers? Is that what you want to do?" he inquired, looking at Percy as if they were playing a game of chess.

Percy stared back at Ron, drinking him all in. He was older, and felt like a stranger too. "I suppose I do."


	34. Secret Paintings

_comment replies:_

 _ **SwampRatUK** : when you mentioned death seeming hollow, i agree wholeheartedly. Percy is so confused about what happened, because it was so unsatisfying itself. and no, you didn't skip over the explanation over why they weren't pushing hard to work out who did it... but it will be mentioned in later chapters. i'm sorry about how dark this story is, but i just couldn't help myself. i think some of the imagery might be a little out there but it just goes with the plot so well i couldn't not, you know? _

_**finkles89** : thank you!_

 _ **Arwengeld** : the story really is mostly told from Percy's perspective. they are very overwhelmed by Percy. i mean...imagine their situation too. these are people that didn't know for ages that anything was wrong at all and to learn all these things over a short period of time...it's honestly traumatic. how many times did they believe Percy was dead/ on the verge of dying? i could just imagine them bringing him home and them collapsing from exhaustion. i know Percy wouldn't think the way he does with his family vs the Shephard's because he doesn't have such a dysfunctional background with them. Percy had years of fostering so much hatred towards his family and has a very short temper with them. he's very quick to mention their faults and doesn't seem to forgive their mistakes as easily as he does with the Shephard's because of the history that they have together. i think they do realise that Percy is not doing well, but it's just been so long of him not doing well that it's very difficult for them to know what to do or how to cope. and i feel like Percy has an equally short temper with them! it's a very toxic relationship that's very difficult to break out of to be honest... i couldn't blame either parties._

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Thirty-Four: Secret Paintings

* * *

It was unfortunate but Percy's room didn't particularly feel like his room anymore. The second that he walked into Stephen and Gloria's house, he felt about as out of place as a first year Slytherin seeing the Gryffindor commons for the first time.

Newly skin grafted and stitched up like one of Ginny's second-hand Quidditch dolls, he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable in his skin... mostly because he was not 100% sure if he only had his skin on, or if he borrowed a little from someone that just didn't need it anymore. He could envision it now! A hunk of loose fat during a liposuction, half-off suspicious-looking beef from Tesco and… well, for second-hand skin, Percy was sure that it was of great quality. It was even as freckled and pale as his. Well, it could be someone that had died off from smallpox in 1986 and they just didn't have the heart to tell him because they were scared that he was going to have a cardiac arrest if he knew.

That was, at least what he believed until he found the receipt when snooping in Gloria and Stephen's room and discovered that not only was the graft entirely artificial but that it cost more than a new shiny house. The amount made him shake.

How could Gloria and Stephen pay so much for a child that wasn't even theirs? How did they even afford it?

Just thinking about the numbers sent him into a state of his belief, but also warmed his heart faster than a frozen sticky toffee pudding being zapped away in a microwave. They hadn't told him about the cost and had been so nice to him since that he'd left the hospital. Yesterday, they took him to an art museum. Even when Stephen was dozing off at the third exhibit, he insisted on taking pictures of everything and having them developed to help inspire his art. After that, they took him out to eat dinner at a Thai restaurant since he'd never been to one before. They didn't even mind that he spent more time washing his hands and arranging and wiping down silverware than he did eating his lemongrass fish with steamed white rice.

It was hard to stay cross with them when they bent their lives just to serve someone that they didn't even know!

How could he believe that they didn't care for him when they spent so much money on him? The money that they'd probably been saving together since they got married in 1972 for a year-round trip around the world? They hadn't even told him about cost! Percy just made the calculations in his head based on he knew now that he could understand basic arithmetic.

After spending two gruesome months in the hospital, Percy was allowed to leave the hospital five days ago. This was great because if he saw another white wall, he'd start to believe that tissue dispensers represented gender and sexuality. By the time he was discharged, he was physically well. His ribs had healed. His collarbones had been pinned into place by an orthopaedic surgeon, who had probably gotten an astounding commission after the three operations he'd done for him. If Dali was alive, he would be inspired to create a being made from flesh and metal and relate it to the aftermath of a war that he was sure was going to happen because he was a seer. Oh, and his knees were not un-dislocated… _um_ —re-located back to their appropriate positions, and all his bruises he had had all but faded away. He had been back to school for about three days, and his marks were so exceptionally good that the teachers had called Gloria and Stephen last night just to tell them that they suspected that Percy was cheating on his tests. (They didn't understand the Charlie/Percy thing, but he supposed very few people could follow the story.)

But you'd think after figuring out that he was in the hospital after a 'crippling car crash', people would be more sympathetic!

He spent most of his days staring at the same Dali portrait until he collapsed on his bed and started sleeping, dreaming of elephants and Dali's eerily sexual drawings. He often thought of Dali's obsession with masturbation and his sexual insecurities. He just couldn't help himself! But he wasn't sure what it made him feel.

But Percy didn't think of Dali nearly as much as he thought of Clarence Cyril Prewett. Percy thought of Clarence from the start of the day up until the very end. And if that wasn't enough, he dreamed about him every bloody night!

He saw Clarence in the dull insipid blue-coloured curtains that Gloria had just bought a few days ago on discount. Percy saw him in his English book, staring back at him with vacant watery eyes haunting him with every spine-chilling word he read. He saw him in his sleep, blaming him for his suicide. Percy saw him when he was awake and staring at Dali's portraits for hours and hours, watching Narcissus morph into Clarence and Clarence morph into a meek little white mouse. When he saw Clarence time and time again, he watched as all the colours of the world be sucked out from underneath him in some cruel irony. His murky-bottled oil paint looked drab and grey. His favourite yellow oil paint felt tainted. The smell made him nauseous. Yet his whole room was covered in plastic covers. From dusk until dawn (with no prior social or school commitment of course), all he did was paint. And when his hands started to ache, he painted even more.

Percy felt like a blank canvas. The more he stared at himself, the more that he started to imagine things. Dali would be proud to see how he'd excelled at the paranoid-critical method. He could barely sleep without envisioning skies glittering with stars and sheep in a vague, disoriented meadow.

Christmas was approaching. Percy equated Christmas shopping, decorations and celebrations with having an enema (bear in mind, he was obsessive-compulsive, so that statement was even more alarming than it would be for a regular person). He detested the tree they already had in the house, which he'd washed until the leaves started to die. Their new wreath was not symmetrical. The shiny, maroon baubles were all an even number, which he hated. And Stephen and Gloria had been buying Yule logs the second that it hit the first of December. Percy's new favourite activity was to open the fridge, glare at the chocolate log like it was just going to evapourate into dust, and then close it, praying it would be gone tomorrow.

Then this morning, he had the worst package delivered to him. His mum had sent him one of the annual Weasley Christmas sweaters and asked if they could come around now that he'd settled back into the house. Wonderful. Exactly what he wanted! A gigantic sweater that made him mental every year because he could never wash it enough. Already he wanted to throw it into a bath and scrub it until the violet colour had turned more of a lavender purple. He'd just have to make sure that the _P_ would stay on this time! Percy, of course, logically started to have heart palpitations and nearly passed out in a cold sweat when his mum asked to come over considering they knew that seven-year-old Percy was molested during the holidays. Not that that was the reason that he hated the holidays. The noise level was always inappropriate. The Christmas turkey they insisted on having always looked wrong. He was sure that it had been cooked to the point that all bacteria were out, but what was wrong with just eating a regular-sized bird that didn't look like it had been plumped with more hormones than a pregnant woman?

"Percy?" Audrey was standing by his door, in a loose cotton shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. Her hair was tied back, and she was wearing her gigantic frames. There was a zit on her cheek that she didn't cover up. Percy was blown away by how stunning she looked like. "Can… can I come in? I don't know if you remember but a few days ago, you asked me if I could come over on Saturday sometime and we could watch those Hitchcock films? I bought them all."

"Yes," he was still clutching the jumper in his hand. "Yes, of course!"

Yesterday, after school, they met up by the pool. Audrey tried to talk to him. She still felt very nervous around him, but she also walked around with him for hours. Even when they weren't talking, they enjoyed each other's presence. That… felt nice, he supposed, but he did miss talking to her. Percy wondered if this was an aftermath of being raped and nearly thrown into the river to die, or if it was because he'd told her he loved her! But she couldn't hate him that much, because she still held his hand when they went out for long walks.

Audrey smiled at him weakly. "I also bought some Christmas films! For us to watch," Percy groaned, because he had no interest in any of them. Last night, he watched one with Gloria and Stephen and thought that the plot was boring and uninspired. "In case you change your mind in the next few hours and decide that you absolutely _love_ Christmas."

She shifted uncomfortably. "Are you going to be spending Christmas with the Shephard's or your other family?"

Percy hadn't thought about it. It would break both Gloria and his mum's heart if he did not attend either of their Christmas celebrations. "I suppose I'll have to attend both then, wouldn't I? To prevent any…unpleasantness between the two parties," the thought of having two Christmas dinners made his newly-grafted skin crawl.

"Unpleasantness between the two parties," Audrey echoed, looking at him. "Did you just seriously use that in a sentence?"

"Yes, I believe I did," Percy mumbled. Audrey made him wrap up Christmas presents last week. He was sure that the colours red and green were going to absolutely plague his nightmares. God, this was such a deplorable holiday. "Would…you like to come to the wizarding world with me today? I have a few sensitive errands to run. One of them involve speaking to Lucy, so I understand it if you refuse to accompany me. I could always do them another day, of course."

Audrey looked down at her comfortable clothes and then flushed. "I suppose I could change."

"Don't," Percy said tenderly, smiling weakly. "I prefer you as you are, just like Charlie did. That hasn't changed, and it never wills no matter who I am. You do know that that makes two men that prefer you exactly the way you are and are absolutely tantalised by your presence." For once, being Charlie before had given him an advantage. How else would he have said such a corny, horrific thing?

"Well, um…it's just that…" she paused. "It's cold outside," He was sure that this had nothing to do with it being cold and everything to do with the fact that she was did not have more layers of makeup on her than a Photoshop image.

She peered into her bag. Knowing her, she probably kept an emergency make-up kit and clothes that did not have three stains of chocolate on the back (Quality Streets and Cadbury Roses). Audrey and her parents demolished those sweets in heinous amounts daily. Audrey always told him that she was going to go on a diet every day because she wanted to lose two stones, but her resolve weakened by eleven. And by noon, he nearly always found her picking out hazelnut triangles from the chocolate bowl at home.

"Audrey, I…I don't mean to implore," he couldn't hold it in any longer. He had to know. "But um… Lucy mentioned that…um…you had breast cancer before? I understand that it's a delicate subject but… considering that…"

She looked a little surprised to hear this and dropped her giant bag. MAC foundation and spare underpants tumbled out.

"Um…well…" Audrey leaned down to scoop up her belongings. She looked flustered, and he supposed it was because he now knew that her underpants were the silky, thong type that couldn't possibly be comfortable. What on Earth was she doing with those? "Percy, can I show you something? I mean it requires me to undress, which I realise is probably a horrible thing to mention since…can I?"

"Undress?" Percy felt uncomfortable for her. "Are…are you certain that you want to undress in my kitchen?"

"Well, nobody's going to come in, are they? And you are my boyfriend…who is alright with this?" Audrey asked again, only for Percy to nod his head.

He did have a normal sex life with Penelope even when he was at his worst. He didn't understand why, but it always made him feel fraudulent. If he had been raped, he was bound to have issues with getting undressed and having sex then, wouldn't he? But he didn't. As he pondered, she untied the drawstrings to her sweatpants and pulled them down, kicking off her top afterwards. Percy knew that she was comfortable with changing in front of Judy and Steel, but he always turned his head away when she undressed in front of him in her house.

Percy couldn't help it, he looked away because this was just wrong to see her undress herself in his kitchen!

As she stood there in her underpants, Audrey grabbed his hand and he looked down. She had her bra off, and he was surprised to notice that without her stuffing her bra up to the nines, she was completely flat without any nipples. He was transfixed by her surgical scars. But they were so fine and well-done that he could barely see them. "I…I'm sorry I had to show you because I don't know if I could tell you and then worry about…what you would think of me if I was ever…if we ever—I don't know," she paused. "But I've never showed anyone this before. You're the only person that knows how it looks like…I…never got this reconstructed after… after the first two operations. But I want to book for one now. Do you know how many people would think that I got it because I'm _so shallow?_ I already had my nose fixed ages ago, and…"

He felt somewhere between a mix of honour, uneasiness and surprise. "They don't matter," Percy said. "But you don't need it. I mean...I would support you if you really want it, but...well, I would be ecstatic if you would keep them like this as well." God, did he have to make everything awkward?

Percy debated whether he could tread any further into this uncharted territory. He risked it. "What… happened?"

"I had breast cancer very young, Percy. I was fifteen. That's almost unheard of! But my whole family had it young and I had this mutation that…" Audrey paused, taking a deep breath. "After I had the cancer excised, my surgeon insisted that I have both of my breasts removed and both of my ovaries and fallopian tubes and… God, I'm not even a woman anymore!" she yelled, and he finally understood Audrey Claire Brown in a way he hadn't before. He understood the ten layers of makeup and the frilly pink dresses. "I went through menopause at fifteen! _FIFTEEN!"_

"You think that's what makes you a woman?" Percy asked her with a raised eyebrow. "A pair of breasts and fertility?"

Audrey flushed and he noticed that she was crying. "I apologise," he said. "I didn't mean to word it so carelessly—"

"No, it's not that, it's just…" Audrey rubbed her arm. "I know you're right, but it doesn't feel that way, doesn't it? It feels like I have to prove that…or that I have to work harder for people to know that…I just feel like I'm a letdown."

Then he realised that he was looking at himself in the mirror for a moment. Narcissus looking into the mirror. His flower.

"You haven't let anyone down by being ill," Percy felt strange, like he just realised that he felt the same way too.

Audrey nodded her head slowly. "You haven't either," she said, and Percy was surprised that she thought about it too.

Percy shifted awkwardly there, looking away because she was still nude. "Well…"

"Well… I suppose it is very fashionable now after Norma Bloom made it famous," Audrey nodded her head and then turned around to wear her fake breast forms and bra again. He looked away then, only for Audrey to giggle at him. She had made her point. There was no need to gawk at her and make her feel uncomfortable now, was it? "I don't know if you know her—you probably don't, but she is a massive television star now! She had a mastectomy just because!"

Percy felt stunned. "I met her on the bus before her rapid ascent to fame," Audrey stared at him like he was mental. Well, a different kind of mental than he was. "I believe that Norma Bloom made me fondle her in the bus to make a point on how she was challenging social norms."

"You met Norma Bloom?" Audrey's jaw dropped. "And fondled her breasts in a bus?"

"Well, she didn't have any breasts at that point," Percy was flushing deeply, and then rubbed his neck. "And it was much before I met you, darling, so it wasn't like I was…" but then she just burst into laughter. He didn't understand the joke.

"You fondled a celebrity's chest and you don't think it's a life-changing experience?" Audrey sounded amused.

"It hasn't really changed my life per say…" Percy thought that it was overshadowed by all the other life-changing experiences that he had, such as adopting a second family and…well, meeting her. And he supposed Judy and Steel too.

He watched her pull out a pair of faded jeans from her bag and put them on, followed by a tight black t-shirt.

"How are your new clothes supposed to ward off the cold? That was the reason you wanted to change now, wasn't it?" Percy smirked. He knew that he'd caught her. She wanted to change because she didn't feel comfortable going out with him in her ratty favourite sweatpants. "Here," he gingerly lifted the jumper from the table and offered it to her. Audrey kept staring at him like he was unhinged, but then slid it on. It was a little tight on her and ridiculously long. He lifted her chin up, his hands still slightly wet from soap. "May I kiss you?"

"Percy, you don't have to ask," Audrey told him softly. He supposed he hadn't botched up their relationship after all!

He pressed a tentative kiss on her lips, barely lasting a second before tucking a loose strand of her hair back. Up close, he inhaled the scent of her perfume and felt like he'd just drank a love potion. Wonderful. "About that night that—"

"I love you too," Audrey cut him off, and he felt his heart thud in his chest with exhilaration. Then she just passed by him to go to the bathroom, acting like she didn't just nearly make his heart stop. That was just _so_ typical of her!

"You _do?"_ Percy asked after she'd left to put her makeup on.

After Audrey was done, they both went off to Diagon Alley. This, unfortunately, required the use of some magic but he told himself that this would be one of the last few times that he would need to use it. Audrey was floored the second that they came there. She felt like she was in a fantasy land. There were Christmas decorations everywhere: animated flying red and green kneazles with Santa hats on, discounts on half-off chocolates with peppermint and candy cane fillings, and Christmas dress robes that would probably cost more than the Burrow's Christmas dinner.

He walked past them all with an air of indifference, but Audrey stopped at every stall and gawked at everything. She insisted on walking into an owlery and was stunned by the beautiful owls sat there, minding their own business. They made about a million stops along the way to Gringott's. He was an hour later than he'd intended to be. It was around eleven in the afternoon when Percy accessed his Gringott's account and led Audrey to his safe. It was filled to the brim with old paintings. If Percy thought that Audrey was stunned when she discovered Primpernelle's, he was sorely mistaken. She was absolutely gobsmacked when she saw his old secret stash of paintings. They were glistening with more colour and sheen than he remembered them to be. Audrey placed a hand on his shoulder and was staring at them, transfixed. The painting in the front was of a clear lake, sparkling like a diamond with a bruised sky.

Percy had added small tinges of colour in the lake, just to give off the vibe of a reflection of someone standing there. And Percy knew what that reflection was of: that day that he sat in the woods with Penelope for hours until their boots were muddy. At the time, he was doing so well that he didn't even seem to care much about muddy boots, or her chipped nail. He didn't even feel dirty. It felt like he was a part of the earth, enjoying the experience of the wet soil and the warm ground underneath him in the summer sun. That day was as serene as one of Audrey's favourite Chopin composition.

"Only you could make water look so beautiful," Audrey complimented, and Percy just flushed deeply.

"Thank you," he said. Audrey kept staring. Her eyes were glowing. He supposed that he knew what he was getting her for Christmas—well, in addition to the box of Quality Streets that he'd already bought her.

Audrey looked at him. "You didn't think you could be an artist before, did you?"

"I had a career in government," Percy explained. It was strange how this little piece of information that everyone knew about him was one Audrey didn't know, but she knew the important things, didn't she? "I had top marks in school, and I knew that…my path had been chosen for me when my mum kept on asking me if I was going to be like my father and join the government. You must understand that both of my older brothers have very demanding careers and they both left England to achieve them. I had a very active career when I joined in on the Ministry of Magic and I did enjoy it but…"

Percy could never compare how a brush felt to his hand next to a boring old quill. "It didn't quite fulfil me."

"Your older brothers?" Audrey asked incredulously. "Doesn't one of them have an earring and hair that's longer than mine? He has a _demanding career?"_

Percy flushed deeply, and then cleared his throat. "He works in this bank actually. Today would be his morning shift," he was sure that he was on duty, but he didn't see him wandering around in that pathetic maroon vest, white shirt and black trousers that made him look like a hotel porter on duty. Percy always felt the need to ask him to carry around his luggage too. "Well, it's not demanding enough to make him lose his hair yet, but my mum has been holding out hope for some time."

Audrey pushed him playfully in his shoulder. Percy shrunk his paintings. She insisted on carrying them around in her bottomless brand-new Kate Spade purse and promised that she wouldn't completely destroy them.

When they left, Audrey insisted on actively looking for Bill, who was apparently taking a break in the tea room. Typical.

"I do not want to see Bill," Percy told her, and she just huffed at him as she opened the door to the break room. When did she have such an attitude?

"I want to see him," Audrey replied. "I want to ask him if he'd help me fulfill my two-month dream of playing Quippitch!"

"Quidditch," Percy corrected, and he doubted she knew anything about it to begin with. "You _do_ know that being on a broom is hazardous to the three hundred chemical products you insist on using on your hair, right?"

Percy knew that Bill's clothes were ridiculous, but he looked more ridiculous than usual. The tie and vest combination were even more pathetic than he remembered it to be. He looked a decade younger than he was. He was stuffing powdered doughnuts into his mouth, but he was acting—and looked—like he was snorting cocaine. He almost spilled his coffee on himself when he looked up and saw Percy and Audrey stood there by the doorway.

Audrey and Percy obviously had different priorities. "Those are the biggest powdered doughnuts I've ever seen!" she yelled. "It's amazing!"

"Who takes a break at this time of the day?" Percy asked gruffly, only for Bill to roll his eyes. "It's barely eleven!"

"He's been on a break for three hours now!" a woman passing by told him. Percy bit down his lower lip because he wanted to tell her that one of her buttons were undone. Bill caught that too, and he smirked at him. He was just going to let him suffer, watching this woman blatantly walk around with a…an undone button! Percy didn't know why Audrey found it hilarious. This job really was challenging if he had to look at that all day long.

Bill just shrugged. "Well, I don't have any work today," he said, looking back down at the table.

"Such a demanding, challenging career," Audrey whispered into Percy's ear, and he couldn't help but laugh.

Bill stood up like a Death Eater had just attacked, and then relaxed. "Did he just _laugh?"_ he asked Audrey as if he didn't believe it himself, and Percy's ears reddened. He sounded like he was strangling a goat rather than laughing to be honest. "Perce, are you alright? Should I apparate you over to St Mungo's just in case your throat ruptures?"

Percy just snorted. "Ha ha, William, you're so hilarious," he sarcastically said. "The reason that you've never heard me laugh is because you're about as amusing as a three am rectal exam performed by a centaur."

"Am I missing something here?" Audrey asked, crossing her arms. "I…well, Percy laughs plenty."

"He laughs plenty? So, Perce, you lost all your memories and regained a sense of humour! Congratulations. I'll be sure to pass it on to the twins!" Bill responded. His lips twitched, curving into a smile. "So… what do I owe this lovely visit for?"

Percy sighed. "Nothing," he said. "Audrey just wanted to make my day longer than necessary by—"

"He went to take his paintings from his account," Audrey answered immediately. "We thought we'd stop by."

Percy's flush deepened and he nervously played with the hem of his shirt. Bill was quiet, and looked like he was in the middle of a horrible Potions O.W.L.

"What's wrong _?"_ even Audrey noticed how nervous and tentative they'd both gotten in about a second.

Bill stared at Percy with glossy blue eyes, as realisation dawned on him. "You liked painting before… all that, didn't you?"

"It was… a hobby," Percy chose to say, before Audrey spilled out some of his paintings on the table. "Audrey! Careful!"

"I thought it was just a hobby!" replied back Audrey. This was horrible! Percy was sure that he was going to have a stroke if she ruined his paintings.

Bill looked stunned and then randomly chose a painting. He enlarged it to its original size by his wand.

Percy felt his cheeks colour. He couldn't say it was just a hobby when he spent three hours just painting a single leaf of a multicolored Whomping Willow representing all four seasons. The wintry white leaves were glistening like a silver gift with mysterious blue hues. The spring fresh dew with the budding white-red-purple flowers, lighter than the air they were suspended in. The summery pink and yellow calla lilies and pale green leaves in shiny beach resorts and the falling papery autumn leaves. Each leaf had a different texture, memory and meaning. It was a true test of his limited imagination... and a labour of love. Did you know how long it took him to paint that?

Bill was gawking at it, completely blown away. "You did this?" he asked Percy. "This was just a _hobby?"_

"No, there's another bloke signing my name on his portraits," Percy replied, annoyed. Bill just noticed Percy signing a tentative _Percy_ , weaving it into the wood's design. Ollivander would be proud to cut that tree down into bits to make a few shiny wands. "Well, it is a hobby, but I suppose…it's a slightly serious hobby with a few anonymous submissions into a few art magazines. With some thoughts into making it a possible career. Well, if I did not already have a career so to speak…"

"If I had this talent, I'd have left the sodding Ministry ages ago," Bill kindly said. "I didn't know you were this good."

"Really?" Percy didn't expect that. He felt something inside him thaw out and melt. "I mean, um…t-thank you."

He didn't expect the praise. He did feel very proud looking back at the portrait that had taken him months to finish. By the time that he'd coloured in the last leaf, he was sure that a part of his aching heart had finally breathed out a sigh of relief.

"You should keep one around the Burrow," Bill suggested. "I know…that a lot of horrible things happened there, but-but I suppose that it'll help make it feel a little better if you'd…if you'd pin up some of these, wouldn't you? I mean…it would help make it feel more like a home. Not that-not that you have to go back to the Burrow but just in case that you _do_ …"

Percy felt terrible, thinking about how desperate his parents were to get him back into the sodding Burrow.

"Yes, I suppose," Percy replied softly, and then picked up a tiny portrait from the corner of the table. "Um… have this."

When Bill enlarged this painting, the whole room went silent. Percy let himself breathe out a true sigh of contentment. The painting was of their mum on their wedding day: young, and rosy faced. Her ginger curls cascading down her back into a waterfall, glistening in the sun. Teeny lavenders, lilacs and poppies trailing down from her hairline down to the back of her dress. She was holding a bouquet of flowers with traditional Prewett colours. She had always wanted a more ostentatious wedding but Arthur and his parents couldn't afford it. They were stuck with drab dress robes that they dug out of Arthur's mum's closet, which was still about two sizes too small on his teeny mum. Percy vividly remembered being sat on his mum's lap as a child and showing him the photo album with despondent looks. God, Percy spent ages on that frock! Did you know how many issues of _Witch Weekly Wonderful Wizarding Weddings_ he'd had to buy to envision those dress robes?!

"I was supposed to send it as an anonymous gift prior to the memory loss and the row," Percy admitted to Bill. "I would… still prefer it to be anonymous but..."

When Bill didn't reply, Percy just shifted awkwardly on the balls of his feet. "I don't hate our parents, Bill," he thought to mention, clearing his throat. "I…I know that it's hard to understand why I never said anything but I didn't want to break their hearts and—"

"Perce, this is stunning," Bill cut him off and Percy was flattered. "Mum would've loved a wedding like this. It's a really thoughtful, wonderful gift and Godric, if… if you sent this anonymously, I'd skin you alive. I really would."

"Well, I already had a head start, haven't I?" Percy replied back with a faint smile.

There was a moment of silence, and Percy could tell that there was something on Bill's mind. Percy wondered how he could possibly inhale four doughnuts before noon.

"Perce, what… happened?" Bill cut him off, surprising Percy with how scared he looked. "With Clarence that night?"

Percy stared at him with a vacant expression. Did he seriously not have any work to do at all? He sat down on the table. He took a deep breath. He already wanted to scrub his skin straight off. Audrey joined in beside him, and he felt calmed down by the scent of her perfume.

"He told me… some things," Percy said in a broken tone. He kept rubbing his neck, feeling breathless and afraid.

"What things?" Bill prompted. Percy just shook his head. He couldn't say, could he? He couldn't say because…

"When is his funeral?" Percy suddenly asked, and Bill just looked stunned. He realised that nobody had planned one.

"Funeral? You want to go to his funeral?" Bill looked genuinely disturbed. "Perce, that man fucking raped you. How could you want to go to his funeral? How could you—?"

"I just do," Percy cut him off. He tossed a look over at Audrey, who was staring at him like he'd just grown a head by saying that he wanted to attend his own rapist's funeral. "I don't mean to be rude, Bill, but how are you supposed to feel when someone kill themselves because of something they did to you? He was the only one in the whole world that… shared that experience, and as terrible as that sounds, it… it validated me that he existed. Now, all I have is scraps of paper that became public knowledge and-and all these unreliable memories! How-how am I supposed to heal from something that doesn't feel real anymore? How could I feel so…unwell when my threat doesn't exist anymore? I don't feel relieved. I feel... bewildered! Shocked! Um... lost even!"

Percy felt like he was floating in the air. Merlin, he always did hate flying. Now, he felt detached from everything.

"Thanks, Perce," Bill looked deadly serious. "For actually talking about it. Let me know… did that hurt? Did anyone suffer now that you actually told someone what's on your mind?"

"No, I suppose… it was alright," Percy didn't realise what he'd done until Bill pointed it out. He supposed it did feel a little better than sitting in his room and slicing into his skin until he passed out from the blood loss. "I'm not too sure."

"Well, I suppose you need to do it again," Bill said firmly. "Just to be sure." He smiled at him in reassurance.

"That sounds just about right," Percy placed his hands on his lap. He didn't expect this to turn out like this. Did he really have all these thoughts on his mind? "Um, well, I'd best be going—"

"I'm proud of you," Bill cut him off, and Percy looked surprised again. He stared back at Bill, who kept his eyes locked on his face. They stared at each other for ages, and Percy analysed Bill's face like a Salvador Dali portrait. But it was so resolute and unchanging. The air was about as serious as the _Soft Construction of Beans_. "And so is everyone else."

Percy wanted to ask why, but instead; he just firmly nodded his head. He left, feeling his hands shake.

"You did so well," Audrey told him, grabbing his hand, and he looked down at her. "I'm so proud of you too." His heart swelled and doubled over, and Percy felt particularly hopeful. He supposed he _could_ do this again, couldn't he?

At least it gave him the courage to go into Lucy and Clarence's house after. But the second that he got there, a cold feeling settled in his bones. The second he rang the doorbell, he thought that he was going to pass out because he wondered if Lucy would hate him now. If she'd blame him somehow for being so… but before he could think anymore, Lucy opened the doorway. She was stood there in a pale pink night gown, with her hair pulled up. Percy supposed that she'd just woken up, but she looked like she was off to a magazine photoshoot about the importance of beauty sleep.

Lucy's face crumbled, and Percy cleared his throat. "Percy," she let out in a strangled breath.

"I…" Percy began, but paused. "I…um, err…"

"I-I can't believe this!" Lucy wrapped her arms around him, and buried her head into his shoulders, sobbing. She had her hand run through his soft red hair and the more she sobbed, the more that his heart ached. She leaned backwards, staring at him and he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach because she looked at him like he was a poor little first year that had his broomstick confiscated. A part of him _did_ feel like a little boy that had been wrongfully treated but he didn't want to think about that anymore. He was sick of feeling like a child.

"I apologise," Percy whispered, feeling more grounded into reality than he had in months. "Because of me, you lost your husband and your child lost its… father," he still couldn't believe she named the child after him.

Percy cleared his throat and rubbed his neck. "I…I do miss him," he decided to say.

Lucy looked surprised by this. "I just…I don't understand how he could've…I read that suicide note at least ten times," she said, rubbing her nose with her wrist. Percy made a mental note not to let her touch him again until she had a bath. "The things that he did to you were…unspeakable. I was in denial in the beginning. I just thought that…that there was no way that he could've done anything like that to a little boy but then-then…I remembered once he…called out your name during…" she closed her eyes and Percy suddenly froze into his spot. He didn't want to know that.

"Why would you tell him that?" Audrey spat out coldly. "Do you think he doesn't have enough to—?"

"I'm-I'm sorry! Merlin, I'm so horrible! Audrey's right! Why would I say something like that when-when I know what Clarence had done to you?" Lucy looked about ten years younger than she was. Just like Bill did just a few hours ago. Percy had never realised how young and inexperienced they were, how scared everyone was. "I didn't…I shouldn't have…I…"

"It's alright," Percy promised, nodding towards her because he was not touching her after she wiped her snot on her wrist.

Lucy cleared her throat. "There…there were other things," she said, but she didn't elaborate on them. Percy thought that he had an idea of it, because he'd once seen a boys' Gryffindor school uniform in her closet. He couldn't imagine how she felt now. "I wish that I knew before…Godric, Percy, I don't know how you must feel like knowing that Clarence's son is named after you and—"

"Do you want to see my paintings?" Percy cut her off. She looked thrown back. As she digested what he said, she tentatively nodded her head.

"Come on," Audrey's face softened. Lucy looked as attractive as a ninety-year-old ghoul with all the tears running down her face. She looked truly broken. "I'll help fix you up a little and we can have a nice talk. How does that sound?"


	35. I Also Don't Like Christmas

_there is one more chapter after this one i haven't decided if i'm doing an epilogue yet.  
_

 _i've already posted a new story since this one is almost done. it's not a story i've had in my polls unfortunately but something i've been wanting to write for ages now!_

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Thirty-Five: I Also Don't Like Christmas

* * *

Little baby Percy Prewett was two months old, and he was the ugliest baby that Percy had ever seen. He had the most asymmetrical ears, a flat bridged nose and had eyes that were bigger than his face.

Percy had never felt so touched. A baby named after him! He didn't realise what that meant until he saw teeny-tiny Percy in his cot. Named after him! Him! It helped that baby Percy smelled like that always-clean-just-out-of-the-bath baby smell even though he hadn't bathed since last night. Percy felt like it was almost cathartic in a backwards Salvador Dali-inspired sort of way. When Audrey saw two-month old Percy shivering, she wrapped him around in Molly's jumper.

"Oh, thank you!" Lucy said to Audrey. She was really grateful, and Percy knew it was because out of all the people in the Weasley family—extended or otherwise, she was the only one that had persistently never gotten a single jumper. She was probably the only one that sat there waiting every December morning for a package, hoping for a knitted Christmas sweater. "I mean…I'm sure if-if your mum isn't dealing with Clarence's death, she-she would've sent me one this time. Of course."

"I'm sure," Percy said softly. "Lucille… why-why don't you come to the Burrow with me for Christmas dinner?"

"You and me?" Lucy looked surprised that he'd even suggested it. "Well, um…I'm sure that…Percy, your mother—"

"Will be very glad to accommodate both of us," Percy cut her off. "And little Percy too." He was a star. His eyes were shining and glittering like he was hiding a whole galaxy in his chocolate-brown eyes. They were absolute stunners.

"But—well…um…" Lucy stammered. "Alright." He knew it was awkward to bring a baby nobody knew about to the Burrow's annual Christmas dinner, but he wasn't about to let her rot away in a house in the middle of nowhere, was he?

Percy's chest ached because he couldn't believe how badly his mum had been treating her. Even if he wasn't fantasising about their time together, Lucy was always going to be special to him… and not just because his first normal sexual experience involved her. In his third year, he found a pair of her baby-blue silk underpants shoved under the bed.

He remembered the first time he saw her paint. It ignited a world of colours in him that left him feeling fulfilled for the first time in his life. He remembered the days where she used to find him scrubbing toilets at three in the morning and pulled him away from the bathroom, calming him down with docile words. She would take him down to the living room, wrap him in blankets and make him a non-dairy non-fat hot chocolate to drink. Then she would tell him about how she'd botched up her commission or what colours she was thinking of using for her new painting. She would wait until he finally fell asleep, which then she used a levitating charm to take him back to his bed where he would dream of being in her paintings; in endless fields of blossoming flower, erupting from a fruitless void.

"He's going to be just fine," Audrey whispered to him. Percy nodded his head after breaking out of his reverie.

"I suppose he is," Percy said, looking down at the unsuspecting baby boy that had just lost its father.

Percy Prewett was a happy baby with his very own shiny cot and beautiful bottles. He was safe and secure in a thick, fuzzy violet-coloured jumper blanket. He was fed every hour and had more sleepsuits than he had feeds. What more could he want? Percydid realise that things didn't stay that way, but for now, he felt hopeful for what would happen next.

"Do you regret…naming him after me?" Percy asked all of a sudden. Now., he would regret asking her that.

Lucy shook her head. "Even if I did, I wouldn't know what else to name him because when I see him, all I could think about is you," she honestly said. "He's so beautiful… isn't he beautiful?" she asked, and Audrey nodded her head.

Audrey looked like she had a new appreciation for Lucy. They could both see that her baby was about as beautiful as a butchered Devil's Snare, but the way she glowed when she looked at him made Percy's heart melt. He really was beautiful. He was beautiful in a way that Audrey was beautiful to him with her double mastectomy and face full of zits. Each of his freckle was like a kiss from the earth, soft, new and full of prospects. Wasn't that a beautiful thought?

"What are you going to do now?" Lucy asked Percy, picking the baby up from his cot. Percy could understand why she couldn't just resist. He was so warm and small and smelled so nice. "You know, now that you're permanently living in the muggle world? Are you going to finish school? Are you going to go to art school? Are you going to get a boring job or…well…maybe we shouldn't discuss this now considering it's a stressful topic and it is Christmas after all but…?"

"I might take a year off after school to find myself," Percy said with a serious expression.

Audrey burst into laughter. He couldn't keep a straight face after that because he really was joking, and Lucy didn't know that he wasn't serious. But God, you'd think after all this time with this identity crisis, he'd know himself better than most people did, wouldn't they?

"Honestly… I haven't really thought about it," Percy admitted. "I don't know if it's wise to pursue an artistic career."

"Why…?" Lucy paused, because she knew the answer to that. She'd complained about it to him enough. "Oh."

He found it strange just saying it out loud. _I don't know if it's wise to pursue an artistic career_. He was now back to being Perfect Prefect Percy. He had perfect scores whilst barely studying (only four hours a day compared to his usual twenty-four).

Instead, he spent most of his time painting. Was he really going to graduate from a muggle school? Did he really need Advanced English? If he tried to pursue an artistic career, he was probably going to have a horrible job that he would hate, whilst he tried to peddle his paintings. The thought scared him to absolute death. It was not safe and secure, and he could fall flat on his arse any moment. Thinking about the prospect didn't excite him. It terrified him to no end. What was he doing? Did he really want to sell bits of paper forever? Did he want to advertise his expensive canvasses? He was probably going to end up 'flipping burgers' forever and his paintings will only be famous when he died of insanity.

He was not leaping into a brave new world. He was tentatively strolling about in an unfamiliar road, afraid of being eaten by wolves.

"What did you think of…?" he gestured towards the painting that he gave her.

"It's the most perfect gift anyone's ever given me," Lucy gushed in admiration. "Thank you."

He was sure that was an over-exaggeration on her part, but he nodded his head curtly in acknowledgement. It was a painting of a field of flowers stretching beyond what he could see. Some were sunny and bright, whilst others being velvety and red. Some were pink and curious, and others were blue and gloomy. There were white fluffy peaks and a vestige of something flowery in the background that was not quite a flower but added a soft and cloudy texture to the background. It fit well with baby Percy's nursery, considering it was already covered in Lucy's favourite flower paintings.

The buzz was wearing off already. When Lucy told him his painting was beautiful, he almost didn't believe her.

"You really don't know what you want to do?" Lucy asked him. "I mean, I understand that it's so confusing—"

"Lucy, I think that…that I want to stay in the muggle world simply because it's safe there," Percy admitted, surprised by the words that were coming out of his mouth. Was this the truth he didn't want to acknowledge? "I'm not sure if it's what I want. It's just everyone assumed that…considering the fact that I nearly got killed in Grimmauld Place that I…"

"Grimmauld Place is not much of a safe house if you tell everyone about it," Lucy smiled weakly. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know what I want!" Percy yelled. The thrill of going back to the Shephard's had passed. The excitement of following a new career path ebbed away. He wanted to study more. He wanted a desk. Charlie would be ecstatic with what was happening. He would be fawning over the art museums, and Thai restaurants. But Percy felt… hollow. How could someone that felt hollow ever be really satisfied? "I'm not particularly certain I ever will. I-I'm…befuddled."

"I am also befuddled," Audrey laughed lightly. "Percy, it's normal to be confused."

"No, it's not," Percy didn't want to be confused. He wanted his whole life figured out _NOW._

Was this Lucy's little niche? Staying here in this secluded house, bringing up her baby? Was his father's life purpose to father seven children and work in the muggle office forever? Was Gloria's life surrounded around making sure that he didn't do something stupid? How were they so sure? Because everything felt so vapid and meaningless all of a sudden. He was afraid no matter what he did, he'd always feel like this.

"Yes, it is!" Lucy yelled. "Percy, you want everything in your whole life figured out without even trying to experiment—"

"That's not true," Percy huffed. He experimented plenty. He lived in the muggle world longer than she had. Of course, he didn't know who he was at the time, and was a little confused when he lost his memories, but it counted!

Audrey reached over and squeezed his hand, and he looked back at her. He didn't feel reassured.

"We must get going," Percy said to her. She looked taken back. He supposed he was only proving her point.

Lucy nodded her head. "Um… good luck, Percy," she sounded genuine. "I…I really think you should take that year off. Find yourself. Um...you know."

Did he really want a career like this? He looked around in Lucy's house and found himself looking into another reflection. How many reflections did Narcissus have? He could see himself in her position, belittled for her career and alone. Was this going to fulfil him? Or was he making a huge mistake? Should he go back to the Ministry, begging on his knees?

But they really were going to be just fine. He could see that now, as he left.

Percy looked at the sky. It was blue and cloudy. It was cold, but he felt warmer than he had in years. He felt like he'd just eaten a bowl of soup, even though Lucy had fed him cold baked beans out of a tin whilst Audrey and Lucy were discussing a shopping trip.

"Did you love her?" Audrey asked, and Percy was pulled out of his thoughts.

"Yes," Percy said. "I still do but…" he wasn't sure how to explain. "But it's not the same as how I love you."

Audrey accepted this answer. "She knows you really well," she said. "And she's right about you." He stayed quiet.

Tomorrow, he had a big presentation to do and he hadn't even started writing it. Judy and Steel were probably going to meet up with them around lunch time, because Judy had something juicy to tell Audrey. Steel was still asking him about what this Prissy Percy business was all about, but even with all the explanations, he didn't seem to understand what happened.

His two worlds were still colliding in ways that he did not expect. Things were blurry and clear at the same time.

"You don't feel happy here, do you?" Audrey asked him, looking at him. "Do you want to go back to the Burrow?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know what I want, Audrey. I don't even know if I want to get better."

"Of course, you do!" Audrey insisted. "And when you continue seeing Dr Bareham and talk to him about that, you're going to realise that you want to be normal. But being ill makes you so confused, because you're overthinking it!"

"I just…" Percy thought of all the hours he spent washing his hands. His hands were red and raw from when he'd washed them over at Lucy's place. Six times over the span of a couple of hours. "I feel like living in the Shephard's is like shirking away from my responsibilities. I…I don't want to go back. But I feel like I have to. This is not some rehabilitation journey where I could spend a few years in this universe and then go back to my own, you understand?"

"Percy, are you sure?" Audrey asked. "Are you sure that this is what you want? To back to where you almost died?"

"No," Percy replied. His good memories swarmed him just as fast as the bad ones. He remembered the last time he sat down in the kitchen with Bill at three in the morning, with Bill rattling off about what he did in Egypt. The things he did were so obscure and horrible that Charlie spent the whole night laughing, whilst Percy just scowled at them. That was nice.

"Audrey… um… why are you still friends with Judy?" he asked suddenly. All he could think of were all the things that didn't make any sense. "You do realise that you don't have anything in common with her except for a bad taste in shoes."

The last time Judy tried to ask him out, he said that they didn't share a single thing in common. She told him that opposites attracted. Of course, Percy had to tell her that he didn't realise that he was a magnet!

"I think my taste in shoes is just great," Audrey said, rolling her eyes. "Percy, I know that you feel frustrated with me, but you have to understand that it's… hard. You know it's hard, and I just can't… no matter what she thinks of me, she's my friend. She and Steel are my only friends. You know how that feels, don't you?"

"No, I don't. I'd rather be alone than have a friend like Judy," he replied. "But I suppose I can try and understand."

"I suppose I can try and understand why you're obsessed with attending the funeral of a man that raped you," Audrey mentioned, and when she saw the surprise on his face, she froze. "Oh, Percy, I didn't mean to—"

"You're right," he decided to say. Because it was unusual, wasn't it? "It doesn't make any sense, does it?"

Audrey didn't say anything. He felt the leaves crunching under his foot as he walked.

" _She's_ the one that got you into painting," she said after five minutes of them walking in silence. "Lucy."

"Yes," Percy nodded his head. "Believe it or not, I was particularly problematic, but when I came back home from Clarence's house, I was very docile and easy to, _um_ , cope with. My family thought that I just got on with him, you see. But after he…well, you're aware of what he does, I used to walk downstairs and see all these paintings lined up. I used to count how many flowers Lucy had painted, and it helped calmed me down before…I developed less healthy coping mechanisms. After time I noticed that the strokes were different, you see…and I started categorising them in my head. Thin stroke flowers, thick stroke flowers, by colour, by size, texture, emotions…I…I wanted to paint Lucy's flowers too."

"You did paint her flowers…and more!" she said.. "What did you think? That they were handing you off to be…?"

"I didn't understand," Percy said, and then sighed deeply. "I was very confused…I still am, Audrey. I don't know where I stand at the current moment. I'm both content and in the same second, I feel so…so empty. I don't know how I'm supposed to move past this. I feel like I've lost my purpose since Clarence passed away."

Thinking of Clarence being dead made him feel even emptier. He really was grieving for him! What nonsense.

Percy cleared his throat. "I-I didn't tell anyone about what he did," he wondered if this was his fault for not telling anyone in the first place. If he told someone, could he have stopped it from reaching up to here? "I spent so much of my life believing that it would just go away on its own. But it hasn't. I just…I'm doing the same thing, aren't I? Staying in the Shephard's is like waiting for the memories and the thoughts to go away, but they aren't, are they? They're going to stay there. And I can't…I suppose I can't bury them forever. For lack of a better word considering Clarence's predicament…"

They stopped walking, and Percy looked at the sky again. It changed into grey and ominous. The wind was warmer.

"Maybe you could all talk together again about it with Dr Bareham," Audrey suggested, breaking him out of his thoughts. He couldn't help but stare at the sky, seeing flowers in white fluffy clouds. "Maybe you'll be less confused when it's not just in _your_ head. And it's a big decision, where you want to live…what you think is good for you. It shouldn't just be yours, especially when you're not sure of what you want. Does…is that okay? For me to say?"

"Yes," Percy thought that was a horrible suggestion, but he knew that she was right. "I suppose."

They sat down for a while, staring at the clouds passing by. Gloria and Stephen were livid when Percy came back and told them that he wasn't even sure if this was what he wanted. Considering that they spent so much money on him, he felt horrible. But he really didn't see how he could live here anymore…but he didn't see how he couldn't. He thought that he was Percy, but it was like he was Percy and the ghost of Charlie all rolled into one. Vestiges of Charlie was confusing him constantly. He was having the worst identity crisis.

Fortunately, his girlfriend had been going through the same thing too. And he supposed a lot of other people that hadn't even lost their memories. Percy lived through a state of indifference and was just…coming to realise this he supposed.

They didn't actually make the appointment for a few days just in case Percy changed his mind. He didn't.

But it still surprised him to be sat there in Dr Bareham's office in a Tuesday morning. The air felt very stiff and unwelcoming.

Gloria and Stephen were dwarfed by the size of his family. Dr Bareham had to go get extra chairs just so Bill and Charlie had some place to sit down. Charlie's shoes were held together by Spello-tape and Bill looked like he'd just rolled out of bed. Percy was uncomfortably squirming in his chair, trying not to look at anyone. This was the biggest talk that he had since he had nearly lost his life, and it was already taking a toll on him. He didn't understand why he was being punished for being the victim any more than he understood why Clarence had a disgusting fascination with him in the first place. Well... Percy was sure he knew why Clarence chose him, but the thought chilled him so much that he'd rather not think about.

Dr Bareham was drinking coffee and looked tired. "Well, you really do have a big family, Percy."

"Thank you?" Percy wasn't sure if he was just talking about his real family, or his family and the Shephard's.

Ron was half-asleep on the other couch, and Ginny yawned about ten times in the last hour. Maybe he shouldn't have asked for the eight am slot. Fred and George's eyes were bloodshot because they stayed up all night and slept in until five in the afternoon. Hadn't they gone back to school yet? Well, he did suppose that they were going to…until he almost died. Percy felt awful seeing his family and how much he'd put them through in the last few months. He wondered how the people in the therapy pamphlets got to the stage where everyone was glowing.

They were all in formal wear—well, his family tried to put on something formal. He supposed they didn't fully succeed considering Ron was wearing Chudley Canon socks, and his father insisting on putting on those horrible mustard-yellow trousers that made him look like he was advertising for Fred and George's joke shop. If they went through something as silly as that! He couldn't believe them sometimes. They kept on talking about it like it was a done deal. How could you be so sure?

"It's Percy now, isn't it?" Dr Bareham waited until Percy confirmed this. "Why don't you tell us what's bothering you?"

"I…I am confused with what I want, sir," Percy wished that someone had bought him coffee this time. He was dying for a cup now that he was watching Dr Bareham sip on one. He was also pretty exhausted himself, but that was nothing new considering that he'd been indulging in his obsessive-compulsive habits even more so than usual. His white suit used to be…well, grey. "I know that this is peculiar, but I don't know where I want to live. I…I'm aware that most people don't go to their psychiatrist for travel plans per say, but…I…" he paused, realising that he seriously got two families up because of this?

Gloria and Stephen looked at him, and he felt a little bit uncomfortable.

"This is not about travel plans," Gloria looked unnaturally sweet. "This is about your living arrangement."

Percy wanted to wash his hands so badly, but they were still slightly damp from the last time he'd washed his hands.

"Go ahead," Stephen said softly. "Say what you said a few nights ago… go on." Percy watched Stephen rub his hands with alcohol before he grabbed Percy's hand. Percy smiled a little, because he didn't exactly what to leave the Shephard's anymore than he wanted to leave his family. But he couldn't live in two places at once, no matter what he wanted.

"I'm not certain if I can," Percy whispered back, but this horrible room echoed so he might as well not have even tried.

"That's alright," he promised, and then looked back up at Molly and Arthur with a soft expression. "Arthur? Molly? I believe that we have something that belongs to you. And we'd like to return him back just in time for Christmas."

God. Percy might have to leave Gloria and Stephen on the basis that that this was worse than the Christmas films they'd been forcing him to watch. When he closed his eyes, he had nightmares of _Home Alone_ (should really be a horror) and _White Christmas_. Percy hated snow. Taking six showers at this time of the year was torturous without having to watch it on the telly too!

"I hate this bloody holiday," Percy said before he had a chance to realise that maybe he was ruining the atmosphere.

He didn't expect everyone to erupt into laughter. Even Gloria and Stephen's eyes were sparkling.

"Is there any particular reason you hate this holiday?" Dr Bareham felt the need to ask, and Percy was a second away from bolting out of the room. Merlin, why did his therapist have to be so intrusive? Why couldn't he accept that people could dislike holidays without having a huge tragic backstory? And Percy did, but it was not the reason.

"Don't you worry, Dr Bareham," Molly cleared her throat. "Percy's hated Christmas even before…um…"

"He had a row with a reindeer at the age of two," Arthur explained. Oh God, what did he do to deserve this? Why did his parents not get over this stupid reindeer story? Percy just sighed in discontentment. "I believe he was wondering why Rudolph was red-nosed in the beginning. It was very unnatural. He had a screaming fit in the middle of a shop."

"Hit Father Christmas over the head with a Beater's Bat when he was four," Bill recalled in excitement. Fortunately, Dr Bareham did not ask what a Beater's Bat was.

"Had that bruise for months," Arthur mentioned, and Gloria and Stephen were listening intently. "Do you remember?"

"He's been opening the fridge and staring at the Yule log like it's going to attack him," Gloria sighed deeply, only for Molly to nod her head as if she understood this problem. "Asked me why I felt compelled to put up the Christmas tree the second it turned December, and spent the whole month complaining about how it was giving him allergies."

"I can't sleep at night because of it," Percy mumbled. "Who made it traditional for a tree to be _indoors?"_

They were all laughing! This was horrible. This was so sickening. They were bonding over Christmas stories like they did in Christmas films. Percy wanted to gag and run out the door. He liked his coffee sweet, but this was so candied that he felt like spitting it out of his mouth. His blood sugar was so high that he might somehow fall into a diabetic coma. Lovely.

He met Fred and George's eyes across the room, and they were snickering at him. He glowered at them.

"Shall we have him wrapped up or do you have a to-go bag?" Fred asked when they were done exchanging stories.

"I don't believe we're done," Dr Bareham reminded them that this was an hour-long session, and they had only spent about ten minutes talking. Ten minutes? It felt like ten hours, Percy thought morosely. "Percy, why don't you tell me what's on your mind right? Besides, um…how much you apparently dislike this holiday?"

Percy slowly nodded his head, and then placed his hand on his lap. "Why is nobody telling me about Clarence's funeral?"

The whole room went deadly silent. Did he really have that effect on people? They were just joking about Christmas a few seconds ago and now they were all looking at the floor and scratching their arms, not wanting to talk about it.

"It is _you_ who wanted me to bring up these uncomfortable topics," Percy reminded them. "Is anyone going to answer me?"

"Perce, how could we let you attend your rapist's funeral?" Charlie asked him calmly.

"I want that scarf too," Percy said, feeling his hands shake. If he was going to be thought of as insane, he might as well have mentioned everything that was on his mind. "I want _all_ his scarves. It's only my right. I can't imagine that Lucy wants anything to do with them." He knew that Clarence had left all his belongings to Lucy, who didn't even know if she wanted them. But considering the fact that her career was moving at the pace of a flobberworm in peanut butter, she had to take it.

Bill looked at him like he was really mental. "You want the scarf that he strangled you with? What for…?"

"Because I feel detached from what happened to me!" Percy yelled. "Which is just wonderful for you, I believe. It's so easy for you to be sat there causally talking about one of the most traumatic experiences of my life but…it's like it didn't happen, isn't it? Just give me his bloody scarf! Let me go to his funeral. Let me read that sodding article—I know everyone's kept a copy! I don't know who's taken it my copy but…what are you exactly protecting me from? It already happened! I could probably tell you about it more than he did. How do you want me to get better if you won't _let me?"_

He stammered, feeling himself crumble on the inside. But he lost the ability to cry anymore. He felt so vacant.

"Dr Bareham," Gloria looked at him as if he wanted her to take his side. "You have to understand that we're just trying his mind off it. Both me and Stephen and I suppose the rest of his family. I didn't realise it was so distressing. I mean…it's a pretty difficult thing to deal with, and I didn't want to aggravate it any further by asking about what happened or-or—"

"Take my mind off it?" Percy looked at her like she was insane. "Mum, how could you take my mind off a near-traumatising experience! How about Harry takes his mind off You-Know-Who? Yes, if nobody mentions it, he'll be fine!"

He called Gloria his _mum_. And he was not revoking that. He just looked flustered.

He had to get out of his room, or he was going to faint. He felt like there was no oxygen in the air. How was it already an awful day and it wasn't even ten in the morning yet? Percy stood up. "Pardon me. I'll only be a few minutes," then he left.

He went to wash his hands until they started to look a little like Gloria's favourite prune pudding (it was actually rather nice). Oh, and then he went down to the desk and asked if he could use their phone. They knew him enough that they let him. He dialled Audrey's phone number, feeling his chest ache. If he was going to go back to his house, he'd need a phone.

"Hello?" Percy felt his heart thud into his chest. "Audrey, this is a disaster. I told them I wanted his scarf and they're looking at me like I'm nuttier than a bag of those grotesque dairy-filled peanut M&M's you keep eating."

"Do you ever call at normal times?" Audrey sounded like she was still in bed. At ten in the morning? "Percy, I love that you trust me so much, but you need to be able to tell other people how you feel without having a colossal mental breakdown. Your feelings are very valid and real, except as you know, for when it comes to sweets. You once ate five ice-cream cones with me when you were Charlie. Remember? And you didn't die?" he did remember. "Now… is that okay?"

"Yes, yes," Percy answered, feeling his heart pound even faster. But she was right. "Well, um…goodnight."

He put the phone down and then slowly made his way back into the room. Stephen and Arthur had just gotten up from the couch, obviously to go off and find him. What did they think? That this was a job for them? Couldn't Gloria and Molly have done it? Or Fred and George? And he'd only been gone ten minutes! There was still thirty minutes left of the hour.

"If you respect my wishes, you will get me the scarf," Percy finally said. "And you will let me go to the funeral."

"I agree," Dr Bareham said after a pause, and Percy was surprised that his psychiatrist was on his side. "And so, does everyone else. We talked about it whilst you've been gone, and I think that it's wonderful that you're trying to confront your issues. You have a big problem with this, Percival. You don't confront much of what is happening to you, preferring to sweep it under the rug. I suppose everyone's just done the same since! So, come and sit down and we can start talking about it. There's not much use in having a scarf if you're not talking about what happened, is it?"

"I…I suppose," Percy knew he had a problem with confrontation. But he didn't want to talk about this _now_.

He sat down again and felt a little unnerved by what was happening. Then before he could say anything, Arthur pulled out something from his rucksack and Percy recognised it as _The Daily Prophet_ article. Percy was stunned. Arthur still carried it around with him two months after it happened. His hands were a little shaky giving them to Percy.

Percy leafed through the pages and felt his stomach churn. He let his hand slowly move to feel the paper.

"Percy? Do you want to talk about something?" Dr Bareham asked, and Percy didn't really want to talk about it. "Tell us about what happened in your words. Do you remember how many times that this—"

"Sixteen," Percy replied back without a second thought. "Seventeen," he realised with the new…he shuddered.

"Yes, well…" he paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. Clarence wrote out the details of what he'd done because he believed that Percy would never tell anyone. He had to tell someone, didn't he? He couldn't continue living his whole life like this. He couldn't let Clarence be right. "The first time that it happened, I was…" they already knew how old he was. He was six, no need to remind them of that anymore. "I didn't actually know what happened per say. Well, maybe I could've misconstrued it…"

Then he realised that Clarence had written it out, word for word. He didn't imagine it.

Percy cleared his throat. "Um, what I mean to say is…" he rubbed his neck. "I do remember distinctively waking up in the maroon carpet in my parents' bedroom. I did not look…right. I was bruised and there was…blood somewhere. Well, I was not sure from what or where. But I assure you that it's not as bad as it sounds. I have the most delicate skin imaginable. It's like paper. Cutting it is so easy that I—" he paused, and then cleared his throat. He did not want to talk about how easy it was to cut. "Well, it was three in the morning. My parents were downstairs, laughing at something that Bill said. He always stays up at Merlin-knew what hour. Bill could barely sleep that night. He had so much to tell them. He'd just come back from Hogwarts and had so much to tell you. He'd been so ecstatic about it. It was a snowstorm outside. It had been January and..."

He met with Bill's eyes, and Bill looked horrified. Why should he be? What was he going to do at the time? He was just a little kid himself!

"Well, I had been unconscious for a few hours. I…didn't know at the time what Clarence had done. I just remembered that it felt…" Percy shuddered. "I thought it was pastry cream! What was I supposed to think it was?"

Dr Bareham kept his face unchanging. Which he appreciated. If he looked as horrified as everyone else was, Percy would've probably stopped talking all together. "I'm sure you'd agree that was a very unusual thing for someone as young as you to have experienced," Percy nodded his head numbly. "Why didn't you tell anyone at the time?"

Percy was suddenly aware everyone was staring at him. This was the question everyone was hoping for an answer for.

"I…I didn't know that anything wrong had happened," Percy admitted. "I thought I did something wrong. I believed that…" he tried to collect his thoughts together. "I believed that nobody would hurt me if I didn't deserve it."

Dr Bareham kept his eyes steady on Percy's face. "Why did you feel like you deserved it?" he asked calmly.

Percy felt his eyes turning wet. "I don't know," he whined, but he knew why. "I didn't want to be in the way."

"In the way of what?" Dr Bareham replied before Molly could ask the same question, and he knew his mum would.

Percy felt his hot tears burning into his eyes, and then slipped down his cheeks. "Everything," he said. "Dad was at work. Mum was always stressed. Ginny was a year old and was vomiting everything that she was drinking. She was barely gaining any weight. Ron was in his terrible twos. Fred and George were driving mum mental. Charlie kept on going on long jaunts outside in the forest at Merlin knew what. Bill just came home. It was… a hectic time. I thought I was supposed to know why it happened to me. I did something wrong, didn't I?"

"That is a lot of responsibility for someone of your age, don't you think?" Dr Bareham asked, and Percy nodded his head. He supposed it was. He didn't see it that way. He supposed it wasn't a very six-year-old way to think.

He remembered all those thoughts so easily. "But…" he paused. "I did almost say something."

"When?" Dr Bareham inquired automatically afterwards. The air was so tense that Percy just squirmed uncomfortably.

"Do you remember that Clarence gave me his scarf?" Percy didn't look at his mum when he said this. He was not calling him uncle Clarence. "Well, I was in my winter jumper. And I just didn't seem to understand why my…legs were still sticky after I took a shower, or why I felt so tired all the time. I could barely do anything. All I could do was sit and read, which I wasn't too fond of doing but I suppose it was all that I could do," he stiffened. He'd never told anyone that he didn't _like_ reading before. It just happened with time.

Then he did like it, but he never was interested in reading a book before that! Why would he be?

"Well and my throat and my…well, you could imagine…hurt," Percy replied. He was not going to say that his throat and his arse hurt. He was already embarrassed enough as it was. He didn't know what Clarence had done to his mouth when he was unconscious, and he had a few ideas but who did that to an unconscious six-year-old? "I remember Clarence's scarves as various produce. He had this one aubergine-coloured scarf that he lent me during the time, and the first time I tried to tell someone, he charmed it so that it…well, I couldn't really _tell_ anyone if I couldn't breathe."

"When did he do this?" Dr Bareham's questions were really starting to irritate Percy. "Was it just you and your mum?"

Percy shook his head. "No, mum was breast-feeding Ginny. It was disgusting," he said. His mum breast-fed for as long as she could because they were poor. They didn't have money for expensive baby formulas and Ginny had a problem putting weight, so she gave her both breast milk, formula and a weight gain supplement.

Dr Bareham took this all in. "What did you think? I mean I can't fault your mother for it, but…" Percy finally looked over at his mum and he wished that he didn't. His whole family looked about as pale as ghosts. "Percy, look at me."

"Go on," Arthur sounded like he was shattered. "Don't pay any attention to us."

Percy could barely tear his head away from his family to look at Dr Bareham. He had to wait a few seconds to remember the question. "It solidified that I was being punished for something that I'd done of course," he paused. He didn't think that Clarence was a horrible person when he was just six. "It happened again that night. I woke up in the bedroom, on that carpet again. I thought that I wasn't supposed to say anything about it. But…I couldn't. It was worse than the first time. I realised… very early on that telling other people seemed to… excite him. I suppose the thrill of getting caught. I knew that that… it wasn't pastry cream. I didn't know why was there so much of it. My mouth—my whole face—was covered in…"

Percy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was not using those words. He could barely say rape for God's sake.

"Did he stay the next day? Clarence?" Dr Bareham asked, and Percy shook his head. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"I did," Percy confessed, rubbing his neck. "I told my mum that my throat felt sore. She looked at it and said all that… white spots looked like tonsillitis. She sent me to bed and told me that she was going to take me to the healers in an hour." He daren't look at his mum or he was never going to finish his story, but he wanted to. "I…I know I should've waited but I had to get the taste out of my mouth. It was revolting. I spent the whole hour in the bathroom, trying to wash it off. It came off but…it didn't feel like it had. No matter how much I washed my mouth, I felt like it was still there. And mum was in a foul mood. I'd just made her drag me to the healers for nothing… and I had to eat that awful soup!"

God, he sounded like he was still six. Was having a man use his mouth when he was unconscious as horrible as drinking that soup?

"You didn't bring it up afterwards I suppose?" Dr Bareham supposed right. Percy nodded his head. "Why not?"

"I didn't know what to say," Percy admitted. "The third time it happened, I was seven. It was at a Christmas party. God, I hated Christmas enough. I left the dinner party early, and…I was conscious at the time. But what was I supposed to do? Go and ruin the holiday that everyone else enjoys but me? Then the fourth time, Charlie was in the hospital. Everyone was already so livid. He fell off a broom on his first year in Hogwarts and… how could I ruin everyone else's mood?"

This session was all about him and he still couldn't believe that he was ruining everyone else's mood.

"Can I keep this for another day?" Percy then realised that he'd gone over one hour, but Dr Bareham was too polite to tell him to stop. He felt grateful, knowing that. But he really, really wanted to wash his hands. So, the second that Dr Bareham had let him go, he bolted out of the door in relief and spent his next hour washing his hands seventeen times.

By the time he came out, he nearly jumped up when he heard his mum screaming to Gloria and Stephen. They were standing by the wall, chatting to the Weasley's. Percy looked down at his arthritic-looking hands.

 _"Tonsillitis!"_ Molly told Gloria and Stephen, who looked sympathetic towards her. "I told him it was tonsillitis!"

"Well, I doubted you were supposed to know what it was, mum!" Ron looked disgusted. "I mean… were you really supposed to come to that conclusion based on looking at his bloody mouth? Well, not bloody but you know what I mean!"

Molly shook her head. "My brother tried to strangle him in front of me," she reminded them.

"It only really took ten seconds, mother," Percy mentioned, and Molly jumped up in surprise. "You weren't even looking at me. How were you supposed to know? I couldn't even alert you. He was looking straight at me! But either way…this is a long time ago. It shouldn't matter," he paused, because he didn't really believe that. "Well, not as…"

"You really are mad," Fred shook his head in disbelief. "If this happened to me, would you think it doesn't matter?"

Percy froze and then looked furious. "Don't even imply that," he hissed coldly at him. "Do you understand?"

"Would you?" George repeated, obviously challenging Percy. And it was a good thing he did too. "Think about it."

"Fine," Percy indulged them. He for a miniscule second imagined this happening to Fred or George. He couldn't take just a few seconds of thinking about it. They were his brothers. They were just children. They were all wide chocolate eyes and laughter. If something like that happened to him, he wouldn't be able to cope. He'd genuinely hate himself. He'd want to do anything he could to help them, even if it meant talking about this stupid joke shop obsession than they had. He'd want to scoop them up in bloody blankets and keep them safely secured forever. He'd be scrutinising everything that happened and—oh. He paused, realising that was exactly what they were doing. It made this steely feeling form in his stomach.

Percy relaxed, his shoulders slumping. "I suppose I see your point," he said dryly.

But imaging it was just too much for him. He scooped up Fred into his arms and then buried his head into his hair, which was putrid. When was the last time he even showered? But if he showered, he wouldn't smell like Fred. He froze and just stiffened, because Percy had never hugged Fred. Was that strange? That he'd never hugged him? Percy paused and pulled back slightly, clearing his throat. "Blimey," Percy cursed. "Have you always been this short?"

Fred and George were five-foot-eight, so Percy always knew they were short. But holding Fred so close to him, he felt like his little brother was miniatur-sized.

"How can you take them seriously?" Percy looked at Ron, who towered over him now. When did that happen? Why was he suddenly noticing everyone else's heights? "Have you always been that size? Did you shrink in the wash? Did you—"

But before Percy could finish his sentence, everyone _but_ Fred and George burst into laughter.

"We are not short!" Fred replied, looking offended. "You're just freakishly tall! And it's all because of your big fat head!"

"Can you even see how big my head is from there?" Percy answered back, and George looked furious. It was amazing.

But then George wrapped his arms around him and squeezed him as tightly as possible, sobbing into his shoulder.

Percy froze but then allowed himself to relax. God. There were so many mood swings this morning! Everyone was chatting and laughing one second and serious and sobbing the next.

He ran his hand through George's hair, which was rather soft. He never had people this close to him before. All he could think of was the other person's hygiene habits. Even now, he noticed that George had this horrible cologne on. When his hot tears were staining his shirt, it was hard to be thinking about when he last washed his jumper. Of course, Percy did think about it _briefly_ , but he could always just wash his hands again after this, couldn't he?

"How could you ever think you'd be in the way of anything, you stupid giraffe?" George hissed coldly at him.

"I don't know," Percy replied softly. "Thank you," he finally decided to say, pulling himself away.

"Come on," Gloria looked at him with a soft expression. "We helped you pack your things. We'll see you on Christmas Eve, won't we?" Percy nodded his head. He decided it that way. Christmas Eve with Gloria and Stephen, Christmas Day with his parents in the Weasley family. At least they already ate that log. "I'll even buy a new Yule log for the occasion."


	36. Typical! Now That I Don't Need a Wand

__this chapter is freakishly long...and it's also the last chapter in this story. there won't be an epilogue to follow this.  
__

 _as per_ _ **Matthew W. Kirkland,** you have to excuse me...i don't live in a country where freckles are a common feature (actually, it's rare in my ethnicity). i already changed the last chapter as a result of your comment. i always assumed they were from increased melanin but deepened with sun exposure, but i won't be making the same mistake again! i think i also deleted the references in this chapter...or at least i tried to it's a very long chapter._

 _i hope everyone enjoys the ending. i usually do epilogues and gigantic blocks of text at the end of every fanfiction but i feel like it would cheapen the experience of this one since there is just so much discussed and explored in the fanfiction itself without a need for a breakdown analysis!_

* * *

 **Muggle Me**  
Chapter Thirty-Six: Typical! Now That I Don't Need a Wand...

* * *

"Percy, don't you want to go to your room? Your father and I already moved some of your things there! Including um…your copy of _Prefects Who Gained Power_ ," Molly asked. He curled up even more in his mountain of blankets that he was being… _err_ , snowed under. It was only noon and a cold Percy was busy making sure his fingers didn't fall off in his sleep. "It's really worrying your father and me that you're sleeping here. On this couch. Do you want soup? You're freezing!"

"Mum, I'm not freezing," he felt like he'd just eaten a packet of Ice Mice. "I'm certain I will perish from hypothermia."

"You will not perish from hypothermia next to the fireplace wrapped up in blankets!" Molly yelled fervently. "Well, um…what I mean is that I'd still prefer it if you'd go to your room. It's warmer there," she gestured towards to the room at the end of the corridor. She would also prefer that he'd stop whining about how his artistic form was suffering because of the horrible winter. How could anyone be inspired when they were buried under all this nondescript white?

"It is not warmer there," Percy decided, even though he had never set foot in that room.

"How would you know?" Molly crossed her arms over her chest. "You don't even know how it looks like!"

Percy raised his head from the pillow. He'd just taken his first of five showers today and was still shaking like Remus Lupin post transformation. His mum knitted him a new egg-yolk-coloured sweater last night and he'd been wearing it despite the fact that he thought that he looked like he was modelling Luna Lovegood's latest in style. Yesterday, his mum caught him trying to shove the Christmas tree in the washing machine, which he realised was not magical after all if it couldn't take a teeny tiny second-hand tinsel tree. Well, after he covered Grimmauld Place in more washing-up liquid than a Madam Glossy factory, an irate Bill spent the whole night cleaning it up. He also put a sign on the stockings and presents, mentioning that they were not meant to be put into the washing machine. Really. Make one mistake and everyone looked at you like you didn't know how to operate a washing machine!

Besides, Percy thought the residue of radioactive cleaning material brightened up the place more than a crummy old tree did!

After having to clean up the washing-up liquid from the living room, Bill tried to forcefully carry Percy to his new room. According to Bill, Percy was being 'ridiculous' by sleeping in a couch that was too small for him. After Percy told him off in a way that would make a basilisk wince, he crawled back in his mountain of blankets. But Bill couldn't stay angry at him for long on the basis of him almost dying. Oh, and the fact that they also thought that he had died a few months before that too. Percy was now sure that Death didn't want an obsessive-compulsive twat on its hands.

"Are you sure that—?" Molly was cut off by Percy. Which yes, was very rude but she'd been asking the same question for the last hour!

"Yes, I'm sure," Percy said plainly, looking up at her with a hardened expression. "I would much rather stay here."

"Fine," Molly finally gave up on trying to persuade him. "But it really breaks your father's heart to walk out of his room at the dead of the night and watch you shivering in these blankets here all alone. So, for his sake, I'll make Bill sleep here too. You're not staying here alone, do you understand? I don't care what you think about it, Percival. It's not…it's not alright."

His parents believed that every indescribable action he did was somehow linked to the seventeen episodes of sexual trauma that he had. Percy thought that…well, that was fair enough. But his preference to the couch was only logical.

"Mum, listen to me. This couch is next to the fireplace," Percy admitted, gesturing towards the fireplace. "That is the only reason I would like to stay here. We both know it is because I am taking too many showers in ice-cold water. I also refuse to use any cooling charms due to my lack of affinity for them after burning my toe off once. I suppose dad will just have to cope. And I might accept Bill lounging around here if he isn't going to remind me that I shouldn't put the couch in the washing machine."

Molly nodded her head slowly, but she didn't look like she believed him. She didn't believe anything he said. If he refused to eat lunch on account of the fact that he was afraid his jaw had been frozen shut, his mum would probably lose it.

"Your father has to cope with a lot." Molly sat down at the edge of the couch. "Percy, can I ask you something?"

Percy should've told her that he needed his rest now that he'd given himself frostbite. "Yes…um, you may." What now?

He was counting on her asking him if he was still trying to pursue an artistic career or if he wanted to go back to the Ministry. He also thought that she might ask him if he still liked that warm potato salad she made on Tuesdays, but—

"Percy, do you think…that-that this intense fixation you have with Clarence maybe because he never got punished for what he did?" Molly asked out of the blue. Percy was so surprised that he actually sat up, completely ignoring the fact that he could no longer feel his back from the cold. "I mean…you were never in the situation where he had to be confronted about what he'd done. You never…had that issue resolved. And he... just ended his life before you could have the satisfaction."

Percy just stared at her. "I suppose," he didn't realise that his mum understood him so well. "I never thought of it like that."

He never thought his family would sit there reading that much into it. He supposed he never did get any closure per say—

"I would've believed you if you'd told me," Molly pulled him out of his thoughts. Her tone was so firm that it left him no room for doubt. "Percy, I don't care about Clarence; you are _my son_. Do you understand that?"

Percy stared at his mum. He did but... "Well, um… if he was… _err_ —alive, would you have forgiven him?"

The look on his mum's face was absolutely telling. It was like Percy asked her if she'd ever considered marrying You-Know-Who if he had a good pension plan. "Absolutely not! How could I forgive someone that has been molesting my son since he was six?" Molly asked hotly. Well, when she put it like that! "How could you think that? Do you really think so lowly of yourself that you'd think that I'd take his side over yours? Merlin, Percy, I… I'm sorry that you feel that way but that is absolute rubbish. It's ludicrous is what is… and it's appalling to me that it's an issue to begin with!"

"Considering your relationship before, I was not certain of…" Percy trailed off. "I believe I was wrong."

Molly shook her head in disbelief. "Yes, you were wrong! Where did you get these ideas from? Do you really think that I would've believed him over you?" she looked stunned. "Percy, I don't know what I had done that would've made you believe that. I still don't understand how you've never told anyone over fourteen years, Percy! Fourteen years! How long would you have gone on if…if you'd never lost your memories? And do you know what Gloria told me? She said you wanted them to do a rape kit for evidence. Evidence! Percy... I-I-I don't need any _evidence!"_

Percy flushed deeply. He was embarrassed at how cynical he was. How wrong he'd been. "I apologise."

"Love, what are you apologising for?" Molly asked him, and then wrapped her hands around him. Her embrace was so warm he didn't even care about the fact that she ate yoghurt for breakfast. Well, he cared a little but… "You're the victim. You do know that, don't you? You know that you've got nothing to be sorry for. What happened is not your fault."

"I suppose," Percy said uncertainly. His mum was gawking at him like he was really far gone if he didn't agree with her on that.

"Do you think that it was?" Molly pried. "Do you really think that it was your fault what he did?"

When did his mum start asking him questions like this? And why was he answering her? When did he start answering her back? Percy just stared at her, and then bit down his lower lip. "Well, um…" he paused. "I suppose it's a little complicated…"

 _"Complicated,"_ Molly echoed incredulously, looking at him like she was just seeing him for the first time. "Oh, love, it's really not complicated at all. I don't know what's inside your head but it's all wrong. We just want to help you, don't you see? We're the ones that feel horrible for not noticing this in the first place. You were just a child after all and...and..."

Percy wished she'd stop talking about this. But if he wanted it to stop so badly, why was he answering all these questions? Why couldn't he stop himself?

As Percy contemplated all the things he'd rather wished he hadn't said in the last few days, he was suddenly aware of how many things he'd already told them. The more he remembered the gruesome details of conversations he'd had with his family, the more anxious he felt. How could he tell his mum about _the tonsillitis?_ That was disgusting. In front of his younger siblings! Merlin, how selfish did he have to be to sit there talking about how his mouth hurt in front of Ginny? They were already terrified enough as it was without the imagery!

He was beside himself with loathing at the things that he'd said. Nobody had even pointed out how utterly selfish he—

"Percy, do you remember the day that we came over for a Sunday roast at the Shephard's? You told your father for the first time about-about the assault. But…but we didn't ask you who it was," Molly pulled him out of his trance. He slowly nodded his head. He remembered that quite well. "Well, your father assumed that you'd just…tell him on your own time if you want to. And he'd just been wondering that-that maybe if he asked you before then we could've avoided all this. It's…it's hard for him, you see."

"He assumed incorrectly," Percy said stiffly. "I wouldn't have told him. Not for some time at the very least."

"He feels like if he'd pushed you more then maybe it wouldn't have happened again," Molly confessed, and Percy felt sorry for his father. He didn't want him to sit there, stressing himself out even more. He looked like a ghost these days. "And everyone feels the same. We haven't even tried to ask you about it. We were just so caught up on the idea that it—"

"Mum," Percy looked at her very seriously. "I wouldn't have told you if the Minister himself tried to persuade me to."

There was a moment of silence between them, and Molly reached over to cup his cheek. Percy was suddenly aware of everything that happened in the last few months. He didn't feel as detached from the events as he had been. Confronting these feelings was perhaps even worse than walking around like a disengaged Inferi but…he supposed that he had to, didn't he? If he wanted to get better. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to, but Audrey was sure that if he was of sound mind, he would want to get better. And really, what sane person wouldn't want to be healthy?

Things were changing. Yesterday, he talked to Remus Lupin for about five minutes and discovered that werewolf-hating Avery Smith was now junior assistant to the Minister for Magic (remember him? The biscuit stealer? Percy barely did.) Percy could ask him about what the Death Eaters were up to and wonder what happened to Marcus Flint and the other newbie Death Eaters, but he honestly couldn't bring himself to ask. This wasn't his world anymore. It seemed so long ago that he was cleared out his desk and trying to find his twenty-seventh bottle of wood polishing liquid…

He still did wonder what that bottle went by the way. That was great quality stuff and he had it discounted!

"Perce?" he was broken out of his thoughts for the millionth time that day by Ron, Ginny, Fred and George.

When Fred handed him a cup of what looked like tea, Percy was immediately suspicious. After a thorough sniff and analysis of the drink, he decided to take his chances and took a sip. He shuddered when he realised that yes, they did add something to it. Firewhiskey that was. But the alcohol in the tea cup warmed him.

"Thank you," Percy mumbled, even though he did not like alcohol nor was he an advocate for it. But it helped.

"Are you…" George looked like he was rummaging around for the word, "…okay?"

"Of course, he's not okay, you bloody twat," was Ron's immediate reply.

"Language," Percy looked at him with a hardened expression, placing his hands on his bony knee. He felt a lot better now actually. But he wouldn't drink anymore of that tea. "And I'm alright. I just am not ecstatic that you are involved in such…matters to begin with. This is not exactly something I would enjoy my younger siblings knowing."

"We have a right to know!" Ginny argued. "Before you say it, we're not too young. You were six, Perce."

"Yes, well…" Percy didn't think that he could argue with that. "Alright. I suppose I can understand… but only because you do present a very good argument, young lady," he gave up, because what was he going to say to that? If someone had talked to him about such horrific topics then, maybe he would've been more likely to open up before he nearly died from it.

Ginny was sitting on the coffee table, and his lip twitched because that was not alright. Fred and George were sat on the ground and Ron was leaning against the couch. You'd think that this place didn't have any chairs with how those four acted!

"How do you really feel?" Ron felt the need to ask with a raised eyebrow. He didn't believe him. How nice.

"I feel better," Percy decided to say. "Thank you," he didn't feel like he was going through something all by himself. He did feel horrible, of course, that everyone was walking around like ghosts. They were shocked at the events of the last few months. It wasn't just happening to him after all. It was happening to them too. They were so cautious about what they said to him, but at least, he didn't feel like he was alone anymore. Sometimes, he didn't even feel guilty for telling them.

Ron looked at Percy like he said he wanted to snog Draco Malfoy and elope. "Really?"

Percy rolled his eyes. "No, I'm seconds away from a mental breakdown," his voice was heavy with sarcasm.

"Very funny," Ron mocked a dry laugh, which made Percy smile. He watched Percy rub his neck and smile at him. A real smile that was. "You're still taking the muggle pills, right? The white things that…" Percy nodded his head. He took his antidepressants from the muggle chemist, along with a mood stabiliser and an antipsychotic. He took his post-operative medications from the muggle hospital too. He supposed he liked them a lot more than brewing a ten-step potion. "You like it there."

"Yes, I do," Percy admitted, his eyes on Ron's face. "And I consider Gloria and Shephard as family too. As unsavoury as that might sound… Gloria had so many miscarriages. She'd wanted children for a very long time, and she considers me as her child. Would I really deny her that based on the fact that we don't share blood? I suppose it makes as much sense as expecting that mum would forgive Clarence purely based on the fact that he's her brother."

Fred and George's eyes widened. "You thought that mum would forgive him?" one of them asked. Or had it been both of them?

"Yes," Percy nodded his head. "I…I thought a lot of things that were…unfair to you all I suppose. But I couldn't help what I feel you see. And what I felt was purely based on the things that happened previously. I understand now that—"

Percy paused. He nearly doubled over of a heart attack. He didn't expect to see Penelope Clearwater standing by the doorway, holding flowers. She looked just as unwell as she was when she'd been petrified in Ginny's first year.

"I hope it's okay," Ginny said after some time. "I wrote to her. I thought that you might want to see her."

"We didn't tell her about your new girlfriend," George said. "We thought you'd want to do it yourself." Bastards.

"Percy," she said. This really wasn't much of a safe house, was it? It seemed like everyone bloody knew about it. Percy just gawked at her. It had been ages! "Ginny owled me. She told me that you were back here and-and… well, I'd been asking about you. I know that this is ages ago, but I'm so sorry that I told them about your self-harm and-and—"

"That's quite alright. I—" before Percy could finish his sentence, she crushed him into a hug. He relaxed into it when she smelled like his favourite soap. Even after their break-up, she seemed to remember how to calm him down.

"I missed you so, so much," Penelope said, shaking her head. "I'm so sorry we fought that-that night that you—"

"It's alright," Percy couldn't even recall what they were fighting about. He doubted it mattered now then, did it?

She pulled away from him, offering him a watery smile. Penelope looked like she'd just showered. He relaxed.

"You don't look well," Penelope said. Percy just rolled his eyes. Why did women always tell him this? How would they like it if he'd just walked up to them and tell them that they looked awful too? "Merlin, I thought you'd died… twice!"

"Yes, well, I'm very stubborn," Percy smiled weakly. "I did tell you that I would send you that report on the effects of sleeping draught on the paediatric population when I got around to it…well, I suppose I've been busy."

Penelope's lip twitched into a smile. She rested his hands on his shoulders and he melted when she squeezed his shoulders in that way that relaxed his tense muscles. She knew exactly what he liked. He thought about how threatened Audrey would feel if she met Penelope. She was traditionally beautiful, with big bulging honey-coloured eyes and curls that looked like they were styled by Primpernelle herself.

"Are you alright?" Penelope asked, and Percy nodded his head. "I read that artic—…well, we can talk about that later."

"I'd prefer that," Percy would rather they never talk about that article. It still left him feeling uneasy that the whole wizarding world knew something so dark and intimate about him. It chilled him to the bone every time he thought about it.

Penelope moved her hands away from him. "I'm sorry that-that everyone knows now."

"I suppose I can't do anything about that now," Percy replied, still smiling weakly at her. He did feel better now that he saw her too. He felt like he was more like himself. At a certain point in time, they were together. He had a normal relationship with this woman—both emotionally, physically, sexually, and mentally. They had normal couple fights. They had a very mediocre break-up. They were both career-driven people that still loved each other. Well, in the way that he loved Lucy.

"I suppose you can't," Penelope responded back. "But Ginny said that you're finally talking about your problems, so I guess…something good at least came out of something so-so horrible," she looked almost teary as she said this.

"Yes," Percy felt relief. He was relieved that she wasn't angry at him for not telling her. "How is your training now?"

"Oh, you wouldn't believe the things I've seen!" Penelope beamed at him excitedly. "Once the nurses nudged an on call memo to me at three in the morning and I came down to see this teeny baby that was vomiting—oh sorry, you might not want to be hearing this story considering your aversion to such things. There was the one time that…oh no, that's not a good story either. Unless you're curious to hear about a lactose intolerant ten-year-old troll? What about that one story where…"

As Penelope sat down to tell him about her training experiences at St Mungo's, Percy felt an sudden discomfort between them. Because when he used to listen to her, he got sparkly-eyed, planning an ambitious future with goals that were so sky-high that Percy needed a telescope just to envision how outlandish his goals were. As she rattled on, she must've noticed that his mind was drifting away because she grabbed his hand and when he looked at her, his expression must've been really striking because she started laughing. Her laugh warmed him more than the firewhiskey tea.

"Well, um… I'll find a better story to tell you about later," Penelope replied. He had only listening to bits of the conversation. He didn't remember what she told him, but it was just nice to hear her talk again. It was just as nice to see her again. "Percy, what about you? Are you going to go back to the Ministry?" to which he just shook his head.

"I have artistic leanings," he admitted. Penelope stared at him like he just announced that he wanted to work in Knockturn Alley. "But I don't want to pursue an artistic career."

"Artistic what?" Penelope reiterated. "Percy, do you even know how to paint? Or draw? Or…um-um…"

As she fumbled with her words, Percy picked up his sketchbook from the coffee table and flipped through it. He'd gotten to the one drawing of Penelope that he drew a month back. The look on her face was almost priceless. She picked up the sketchpad and leafed through it one by one. She was in complete disbelief. "You did this?" Penelope echoed in surprise. "When did you learn to do this? You never told me that you can draw! I just assumed your only hobby was polishing your badge and making us Ravenclaws feel inadequate for not reading as much as you do! When did you even have the time to do these?"

Percy did not mention that these were very quick sketches that he did when he was watching the telly at four pm.

"Thank you," Percy replied, and he did appreciate it this time. He appreciated it from someone as high-powered as Penelope. She didn't think that he was mental for enjoying this! That was a start, wasn't it? And she didn't think that he was crazy for not going back to the Ministry either. "Of course, I couldn't exactly think that these sketches could turn into a career but—"

"You're daft," Penelope cut him off. "I happen to know that Roger Davies wants portrait artists for a job in his agency."

"He'd employ me?" Percy found that hard to believe. "Because there are other people that might want the job—"

"He'll hire you," Penelope cut him off again, rolling her eyes. "Percy, you don't have to worry about it at all! He's my fiancé! He has to do what I say. Oh, um... is that alright? I know that-that…I didn't mention it but he was a real help after you...we'd been dating about a year ago I'm sure you know… and we'd been broken up for—"

"Congratulations," Percy actually meant it too. "And don't worry. I have someone else too."

"Great," Penelope nodded her head, her eyes glistening. "I just hope she realises how special you are."

"She does," Percy just wished that he made her feel special too.

Percy was surprised that Penelope found a job for him already! He knew that Roger Davies, for his faults, was a responsible young man. Percy felt a little buzz of excitement now. He had a job! An actual job working for someone that was credible! And it involved him pursing his _artistic leanings_. Penelope noticed the sparkle in his eyes too because she couldn't stop smiling.

"Percy, um… you're really talented—as good as any of the famous portrait artists that I know," Penelope told him, and he basked in her praise. "I think that the Ministry could muck off anyway. They hired that imbecile Avery Smith to replace you! Do you remember him? You told me about him before. Horrible…and-and this is much better. I just wish I knew all this time that you liked this. But it's good that you're being more vocal about it now. I know it's not exactly the job of someone that had 12 O.W.L's and managed to get some of the highest N.E.W.T marks in Hogwarts history, but what's the point of having a job where you feel so miserable?"

"I suppose," Percy answered automatically. "Penny," he paused. Speaking of the past… "Do you know what happened to Marcus Flint and his Death Eater mates?" he asked slowly, remembering how this all started. The minor friendship he had when he was so out of it he could barely remember who he was... did they live? Did they die?

Penelope just grabbed his hands and looked at him seriously. "I don't know," she said. "But we're in a war. They chose their sides, and we chose ours. You understand… don't you?"

But Percy didn't feel like he was a part of the war. He didn't feel like he was part of the wizarding world at all, even though he'd been living here all his life.

"Yes, I do," Percy answered. He just didn't understand how they were in a war and all he seemed to care about was how he felt. Everyone else had Order meetings, which he wasn't invited to, because his father wanted him to 'focus on himself'. He might as well have told him that he was taking a year off now, wasn't he? "But it's just…I suppose I was just curious."

Penelope pulled out a present for him, wrapped in those horrific Ravenclaw colours that clashed with his hair. "Merry Christmas, Percy," she kissed him on the cheek. She knew he hadn't bought her a single thing. Christmas shopping was the last bloody thing on his mind, especially since he had no money. "I hope that it… it helps." Percy raised an eyebrow.

He opened it the second she left. When he saw what it was, he was sure he nearly fainted. It was a scarf.

 _I heard you've been asking about a scarf_ ; she'd written on a piece of parchment paper inside the box. He picked it up. It was soft. It was so pale that he couldn't tell if it was green, yellow or peach. It smelled like her, and it felt warm and comforting around his neck. When he put it on, he thought of the first kiss they'd ever shared, which felt like a million years ago. Penelope was the melting clocks in _The Persistence of Memory_ , solid yet ebbing away, fading, disappearing. She was just a memory, a vestige of something that was once there but had started to disapparate before he'd fully enjoyed all she had to offer. And that was when it had hit Percy the full implications behind Clarence's death... and it left him feeling emptier than ever before.

Percy started sobbing. His mum was right. He never got closure. How could you get closure when the only time that people found out about what your uncle was doing to you was when he killed himself? How dare he do this to him?

"Perce, are you okay?" Ginny broke him out of his thoughts. He'd forgotten that she was there.

Percy nodded his head. "Yes, well…" he rubbed his red eyes furiously. "I just…mum was right. I never really did get that closure that I had with Clarence. He never got…punished for what he'd done." He felt so cheated, so hurt.

"We're not going to his funeral," George said. "Mum is going to have him cremated. She doesn't want to have to look at him anymore.."

Percy wanted to look at him one last time again, but he doubted that it was what he needed. "I suppose," he said softly. "I haven't—um…I haven't done anything wrong, have I? I didn't want to upset mum by—…" God, he was an absolute mess. How was he saying this to his little siblings? They looked at him like he was unravelling faster than the first Christmas jumpers their mum had ever made.

"Merlin, you're so stupid for someone so smart," Ron told him. "Mum is right. You don't think right."

"I suppose not," Percy said vacantly. He cleared his throat and bit down his lower lip. "Excuse me. I just…"

Percy made his way into the bathroom where he locked the door. He washed his hands seventeen times.

He never got the confrontation that he wanted. He never got the satisfaction of that man suffering for what he did. All he had was this hollow ending. What was the point of anything? How could one man be so cowardly? So selfish?

He pulled her scarf to him and breathed in her scent. _Oh, Penny,_ he felt nostalgic.

Percy remembered the first time he'd ever held her hands and how nervous he'd been. He remembered his school days like they'd been yesterday. They were vivid as Lucy's flowers and Audrey's favourite lipstick. He remembered how bright and sunny the skies were on the days that he'd been forced to go to Hogsmeade with her to buy her sugar quills. He remembered spending the last day of Hogwarts with her and the lunch they had of overpriced non-dairy cheese toasties and substandard soya lattes they drank afterwards at a vegan café. He remembered sleeping with her for the first time. He remembered walking into her apartment for the first time and nearly having a panic attack. He remembered the smell of warm bread out of the oven. She was so good at making bread... who had been there before Gala, Percy wondered? Did Salvador love anyone else? Was he just incapable of doing so? Percy just stood there, breathing in that scarf like it was a lifeline. He remembered, remembered, remembering everything as if it was the first time he'd experienced it. He remembered how her hands felt in his hands when she decided that she wanted it to end. He remembered letting her go and watching her fly away.

Now, if only he could let go of everything else that was weighing him down. He'd fly away too. Soaring. Safe. Among fluffy clouds made out of elephants and surreal sex symbols.

But Percy was weighed down. By wheels of cheese, melting in the hot Spanish sun. He watched everyone else from below. But his telescope had a broken lens. His glasses were too big for him. Percy could see that clearly now. Being Charlie made him more like Percy than he could ever imagine. All this time, he had not been Percy. He was a vestige of a vestige of what he believed that Percy Weasley would be. He had been what he believed he should be and not what he truly was. He believed that he was the mild strokes in Salvador's painting, but he didn't know that he was the whole picture. And now, he could see the bigger picture a little more each time he tried to really look at it. His life had become like a painting. Every time he looked at it, he saw something new and different and exciting. Something confusing and not all needed; a surrealist portrait. His old self was cubic and rigid and inflexible. But Percy was never one for cubism at all, was he?

But with the searing hot sun, he started to melt into something that was far more human than he could ever imagine.

In the days approaching Christmas, Percy appreciated the last painting that Salvador Dali painted before he died.

 _The Swallow's Tail,_ based on the French mathematician Rene Thorn. How ironic it was that Charlie absolutely loathed anything related to mathematics, and how ironic it was that in the days following his near-death experience, Percy poured over maths books like he was about to take an exam. Rene Thorn studied the bifurcation theory; a dynamic system based on sudden shifts in behaviour arising from minute alterations in circumstances and how it affected the non-numerically measurable qualitative nature of the equation. Dali was enamoured by mathematics, and the sciences. A logical man you'd think. And yet, this was the same Dali believed that the Gare de Perpignan was the centre of the universe. A mad man that fell in love with theories that were wilder than he; an entertainer with the most heart-breaking theatrical life and death.

A man that lived for fantasies woven from his paranoid-critical method. A man that allowed himself to descend down into lunacy for his own art.

This was a man that painted thousands of paintings and yet was remembered for only five. A man that was mental enough to push off another child off a bridge simply because he could. A man that believed that he was the incarnation of his own dead brother. A man that was not a man at all; a genius, a madman, a lunatic that was obsessed with the idea of sexuality. A man that started his first few paintings with an infatuation with Freud and ended his series with a man named Rene Thorn. And if he had lived to be a hundred years more, Rene Thorn would've been another glossy somebody that Dali was obsessed with at the time. The next big thing. Dali was a man as dynamic as theory that Thorn studied; a sudden shift in behaviour arising from minute alterations. A manic, self-indulgent mastermind that lived his life with the extravagance of a psychiatric patient on run from the asylum. But his life, as exuberant as it was, was as hollow as Percy's was. A death unsatisfied. No closure; no Gala, no love. A fascination with sex that he could never indulge in because of his own feelings of inadequacy. Paintings that he believed made him more special than everyone else. A man that made himself insane for his art. And died with his art; but was as every bit as hollow on his death bed as he was when he'd been alive. And if Percy had ever been the Minister of Magic, he would still die in Gala's castle too. If they cut him, he would still bleed. Just like Dali. Just like Harry. Just like a muggle. Just like a wizard. Just like everyone else.

"Are you seriously still washing your hands?" he heard Ron knocking on the door. "Open the bloody door! It's not your bathroom! You're sharing with the bloody Order of the Phoenix! You'd think that the prestigious members of society could take a shit without needing to wait for thirty minutes for an obsessive twat to finish turning his hands into prunes!"

Percy looked down at his hands. Well, he did think they did look a little prune-like, but, um... he was getting better!

On Christmas Eve, he wore the scarf when he visited the Shephard's that evening. They didn't expect to see him, even though they'd set up the house like he was coming. Molly knitted two jumpers for them: two black-and-white jumpers with an _G_ and _S._ Gloria's jumper was gigantic on her, and Stephen's was a little too tight because of how broad his shoulders were. Percy was forced to wear that hulking heaving blanket of a jumper himself, which he supposed he appreciated considering the multiple ice baths he'd been having. Percy was not a complete git. He let everyone else in the house shower and suck up all the hot water before he went in and showered the last few days. Why should they suffer from hypothermia just because he washed his hands all day long?

But Ron still had at go at him for always being in the bathroom. Ron was so irritated that he even put a tiny little tinsel tree in the lavatory for Percy to stare at when he was ritualistically washing his hands. The bloody bastard.

What Percy didn't expect was walking in and seeing Audrey's family sat there too. Percy nearly dropped the presents that he bought with him. Audrey was holding a tiny box, which was maroon-coloured and flecked with gold. He'd sent it to her a few days back. She consistently wore Gryffindor colours for occasions, even though she didn't know anything about Hogwarts houses. Even now, with her hair in a bun, she had on her favourite gold eyeshadow and that red lippy she wore for the Sunday roast debacle. She had on a dark red jumpsuit with gold stitching, and gigantic gold bangles. It made him flush to look at her, looking like a rejected Hufflepuff with his yellow-orange jumper and black trousers. He looked like he was advertising for the Wimbourne Wasps for Merlin's sake.

 _"Do not open until 25/12/1999?"_ Audrey raised an eyebrow at him, gesturing towards his neat handwriting. "You bought me a gift I can't open until four years from now?" she kept on shaking the box, trying to figure out what it was.

Percy just smiled weakly. "1995 is not a very good year for me," he decided to say. He did notice that she didn't open the gift, but had it set by the Shephard's Christmas tree just the same. It was frustrating, wasn't it? To have a gift you couldn't open? He had that nagging feeling in his head every time he tried to suppress his obsessive-compulsive urges. They yelled and nagged at him too until he just had to give in. "And I suppose 1996 is going to be a year of attempting to get past my… apparent PTSD. 1997 is about the same thing considering it's difficult to get past fourteen years of hardship in two years. But oh, and it's a nice date don't you think? A nice odd number. I don't know when the war is going to end so I gave a four-year allowance for that, plus the damages of the—"

Audrey wrapped her arms around him, burying her head into his shoulder. "Merry Christmas, you stupid redhead."

"Merry Christmas," Percy said tentatively, even though he thought that he'd rather have a merry castration. "You…um… vivacious brunette," he heard her laugh into his shoulders. "Audrey, considering that everyone's favourite topic is to wonder what I'm planning for the future, I have to ask… what do you want to do? After school?"

Audrey looked at him like she hadn't expected that question. Welcome to his world.

"What is that you like?" Percy asked. An intelligent woman like her could surely be anything that she wanted to be.

"Percy, I like to put makeup on me…and-and people," Audrey replied, and Percy raised an eyebrow at her, only for her to playfully slap him across his shoulder. Her gigantic golden earrings could probably catch an irritating Cornish pixie with the size of it. She knew how to put on makeup just as well as Ron knew how to make a Dreamless Sleep potion from scratch... blind-folded. This was the woman he was in love with. A woman that knew how to do a million different things but was infatuated by the one thing that she didn't know how to do. A woman that hid pamphlets on breast reconstruction under her bed and leafed through them when she felt low. His true mirror standing before him. And Percy resonated with her like the wolf resonated with the moon. "I know I'm not good at it. I know that I'm terrible at it. But I'm going to take lessons... and-and-and I'm going to be good at it. I promise."

"Marvellous," Percy corrected. "You're going to be marvellous at it," he said with certainty.

Audrey looked surprised for a moment but relaxed. "You think so?"

"I know so," Percy didn't miss a beat. He couldn't doubt her. He knew who she was and what she was capable of, and he wished more than anything that she knew it too. Percy grabbed her hand and kissed it, even though he knew for a fact that she didn't wash her hands. There was still a little powder left, along with a little bit of her lippy. "Now, my love, can you attempt not to scratch my gift with your ridiculously long nails? I've already wrapped it seventeen times!"

"I hope this means you're going to eat seventeen roast potatoes because I made plenty," Gloria said.

Percy was not going to eat seventeen roast potatoes. He'd already put on enough weight as it was without having to pile on weight for a holiday that he didn't even enjoy to begin with. "I think I'll eat a few less if you don't mind."

"I can eat seventeen roasties," Audrey rolled her eyes. "Not up for the challenge?"

"I wouldn't want to choke on Christmas dinner. It's unbecoming of me," Percy replied back to her. He was not exactly the twins, bent on proving himself every time someone challenged him into something—you know, unless it was a badge polishing contest. He couldn't resist a badge polishing contest!

The rest of the night was pleasant, Percy supposed, for Christmas Eve. They had honoured his request for an animal that was not large enough to feed a hippogriff. He ate roast potatoes (nine, not seventeen!), carrots and slices of crisp duck with bread rolls. For pudding, they made him a non-dairy cheesecake. And Audrey forced him to eat a little bit of her Eton Mess. He absolutely hated Eton Messes—he didn't actually do so well with the name, and the fact that it looked horrible. But she'd managed to make him eat half of her dessert without having a series of heart palpitations.

"I cannot believe you fed me that," Percy looked at her cup of lacerated strawberries and cream. "I'm appalled."

"So appalled," Audrey rolled her eyes. "That's why you licked the spoon when I fed it to you."

"I did not lick the spoon," Percy then realised his spoon was wiped clean. That couldn't have been him, was it?

"Are you sure you don't want me to get you your own pot?" Audrey challenged, only for him to shake his head. "I'm sure you'll enjoy it more than you would your cardboard cheesecake. And wouldn't you want a real cheesecake? Do you remember the pistachio one I ate a few weeks ago?" he shuddered. It was very nice actually but... "I'm sure that your new portrait will be inspired by an Eton Mess."

Percy had already started to envision strawberry-dipped clouds floating in a pink tinged sky. She was not helping!

As he went to wash his hands, Evelyn cornered him. "Percy! I was looking for you," she grabbed him by his wrists and forced him to look at her. "I don't know what you've done to persuade Audrey away from getting that-that horrible breast reconstructive surgery after she finishes school, but I'm very, very glad that you did. She cancelled her appointment last minute yesterday! This was a surgery that she'd been planning for-for _two years_ , you know. She spent most of her days reading about the bloody thing and I just..."

Percy was taken back when he'd been told this. "I didn't think I had much of an influence."

Evelyn laughed. "You think you don't have much of an influence? She's besotted with you! She's-she's absolutely smitten with you! She really respects your opinions," he felt the same way about her too. "She feels normal around you, you know?"

"She _is_ normal, Mrs Brown," Percy felt overjoyed, knowing that he didn't just find himself, he found her too. "And I feel the same way about her as well."

He finished the rest of the night without a hitch. Evelyn and Lucas had bought him more art equipment than he could possibly carry back home. Gloria and Stephen bought him a smoking cessation pamphlet, and Percy really would've considered stopping if he did not already buy ten cases of cheap cigarettes that had been discounted. He was already finding it hard to hide this from Molly, and the last time Arthur caught him smoking, he'd started yelling at him for about half an hour straight! Well, Percy supposed it really was a disgusting habit, but if he could stop, he'd have already done it, wouldn't he? Gloria and Stephen also bought him a few tickets to see a new art show in Brighton (they did know about portkeys by then). It was shiny and glossy, and Percy had decided that he was going to take Audrey to the show.

Speaking of Audrey, her gift was the absolute worst. He opened this giant box, only for pints of Ben and Jerry's ice-cream to tumble out. By the time that Audrey was done with him, he'd have arteries saturated with cholesterol.

That night, he had slept with her—well, not slept with her—on the pull-up couch. She had another maroon-and-gold ensemble tucked away for tomorrow. He couldn't stop looking at it. When he closed his eyes, he could imagine paintings laced with red-tinted skies dusted with wisps of golden promises and stars. Oh, and of course... hardened dark red arteries with yellowed plaques.

He saw the world come alive when he opened up his eyes in the middle of the night. The night was starry and bold, and he could still taste the strawberries from the Eton Mess on his tongue. He felt very warm in his Christmas jumper.

Percy rolled over to the other side. He buried his head into her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her vanilla body lotion.

"Audrey," Percy shook her awake at three in the morning, only for her to slowly open her eyes. She didn't look amused at all by the fact that he'd had her up when Father Christmas was probably off taking a kip. "Audrey, I…"

"Yes?" Audrey yawned, closing her eyes again and burying her head into the crook of his arm.

"Do you want to live with me after you finish school?" Percy asked all of a sudden, rubbing her arm. "My mother really likes you and-"

"Oh, fuck off," was Audrey's reply, but Percy was sure that there was a _yes_ in there somewhere.

Grimmauld Place was so festive for a dark ominous cloud. Percy absolutely hated it. He kept on glaring at the tinsel tree that he was sure still needed a wash. He believed that that colour of silver was particularly unnatural. He hated the fact that his mum made that horrible rock-like Christmas pudding that he was sure was going to end up in the bin in a week. By the time that Lucy came around, Moody had gone off at Percy, asking him if he forgot that Grimmauld Place was a safe house. But all of this dissipated with the air of celebration that Percy wished he could get away from. Even Snape had been scowling less in one of the Order meetings they had that morning. Percy was shocked to know that, considering that he thought that Snape was even less interested in holidays than he was Apparently, he'd been wrong. But Percy felt a little festive too when he led Lucy inside the building. Huddled up in his violet-coloured jumper was little Percy Prewett, who looked as tiny and small as ever.

And there was of course, the fact that his siblings didn't return to school yet, but the twins promised they'd go back to school after Christmas was over. Percy didn't know how his parents managed to smooth this over with McGonagall, but Dumbledore probably had something to do with it. Percy just rolled his eyes at the excuses that they used. Even if he did die, there was no reason why this should halt their education... in fact, they should've all tried to get 12 O.W.L's in honour of him!

"Twelve O.W.L's?" Ron snorted. "In honour of you, I'd embrace my inner git for… oh, bloody hell. I'd forgotten. I'm sorry."

Percy just raised an eyebrow at him. Then Ron eyed his stitched arm. "Why are you sorry? And stop doing that!" Percy said, shaking his head. "That was a long time ago that I carved those words into my arms like they were an undeniable truth. Please, feel free to call me a git. You're going to do it anyway, but do not give me that-that pitying look afterwards. Like you'd said something wrong. You are right. I am a git. I'm fine with it. I've accepted it." Well, he supposed that he'd still have to carry that scar around for the rest of his life but that was the price he'd had to pay for what he'd done. He knew that. He'd accepted that too.

"Easy for you to say," Ron huffed, shaking his head. "Slicing your skin was like cutting paper, was it?"

If he was into the conceptual art, he was a piece by himself. Salvador Dali would marvel at the half-man that he was, but he felt fulfilled in a way that he never was before. He might have had his skin grafted to a point where his body was unrecognisable and he might have carved in more words in his flesh than _Hogwarts: A History_ , but he felt normal.

"Well, um…" Percy flushed deeply. Sometimes, Ron really had no tact whatsoever, but he appreciated it this time. "I—"

"Percy, I really don't know if I should be here…" Lucy walked to him, still cradling baby Percy in her arms. He supposed that having Moody ask her a million questions about who she was and what she was doing here was a little jarring. "Hello, Ron."

"Lucy," Ron nodded then stared at the baby. "When did you have time to get knocked up?" he really looked at the baby too. "Godric, it's Clarence's, isn't it?"

"Nonsense! You're family, aren't you?" Percy reminded her, only for her to gawk at him like he was asking a trick question. He turned to Ron with a stern facial expression. "Yes, Ronald, she was married to Clarence. In extension, this is Clarence's baby. That's how marriage works."

"Well, um…" Lucy didn't look too sure. "It's been a few months since was last saw each other and…"

"Do you want to hold him?" Percy cut in the middle of the conversation. Ron looked pale and then sped away. Merlin help the woman that ended up with him, and Merlin help the red-haired freckled babies that he was going to produce.

Lucy smiled weakly at Percy. "You're just as bad as they are," she told him. Percy scoffed. He didn't agree whatsoever.

When baby Percy started screaming to be fed, Lucy looked at him rather sheepishly. "Is there someplace I can feed him?"

Percy led her to the kitchen. He wished he hadn't because it looked like a Death Eater had just ransacked the kitchen. It was an absolute mess. There were mashed potatoes everywhere. Percy's lip twitched, and his heart was racing. He felt like he was about to faint. Molly nearly dropped her sherry bottle when she noticed Lucy standing there with a screaming baby in her arms.

"What are you doing here?" Molly asked acerbically, only for Percy to shudder. He supposed she hadn't forgiven Lucy yet.

Lucy sat down on the chair, then took out her breast to feed him. "Um… Percy invited me." Molly's eyes were on the jumper that the baby was bundled up into.

"Mum, the anonymity between you two is ridiculous," he said. "Lucy did not seduce a paedophile. She had a rather nice relationship with Uncle Gideon. After his death, Clarence was very good at comforting her despite me believing that he was probably involved in the attack itself. I doubt that he'd decided to be a Death Eater with the return of You-Know-Who, mum. I believe he'd been one before and...well, it's actually unnerving when you think about the fact that Clarence married a woman that is _twenty years_ his junior. Everyone seemed to find it acceptable but...it's really not!"

Lucy flushed. This was a woman that was the same age as one of her children for Godric's sake. "Yes, um…Percy, I…"

"Is that Clarence's son?" Molly looked stunned, mostly because nobody in his family knew that she was pregnant to begin with. Lucy slowly nodded her head, and Molly put the bottle down and hovered towards the little baby. "I didn't know that he had a son. He never—well, he'd never even mentioned that you were pregnant to begin with! And neither did you!"

"Well…um…" Lucy looked like a first year trying to excuse herself in the middle of her first Potions class.

"Well, she was worried about a frosty reception, mum," Percy replied, only for Lucy to giggle (a Christmas pun that was wholly unintended, mind you). "How did you expect her to tell you anything when you put her down at her own wedding? Were you going to support her through her pregnancy? It's not like you were ever going to apparate away for a lovely weekend over at Brighton!"

"Well, I…" Molly cleared her throat. "I suppose there is a little bit of a…background between us but I suppose that we can work this out. If you'd be willing to."

Molly was staring at him, completely transfixed by the two-month-old baby. She reached out and Lucy tentatively allowed Molly to touch him. He had big brown eyes and tufts of silky red hair. "He looks just like…" Molly looked a little overwhelmed. "He looks just like Clarence did at that age. He never was the most beautiful baby, and mum always reminded him of that when we were growing up, did you know?"

Percy didn't miss the look on his mum's face. When did it go wrong? How did your own brother turn out to be such a monster?

Lucy stiffened. "Yes, I know," Percy knew that too. "But my baby is beautiful. Don't you think so?"

"Oh," Molly looked a little confused. "Yes, yes... he's very beautiful."

Percy watched the baby look up at his mum when she said that. He'd even stopped sucking on Lucy's breast, and had started nodding off. He was asleep in seconds, and Percy couldn't help but smile. He really was special, and Lucy never ceased to remind everyone else of how special and beautiful her baby was. She didn't see Clarence when she saw him. And neither did Percy for that matter. He hadn't even noticed the shocking resemblance until right that moment, and it didn't even unnerve him. Molly sat down on a chair, still looking at the sleeping baby. She looked besotted.

"What's… what's his name?" Molly asked, looking back up at her with glowing eyes. Yes, she loved him too she'd decided.

"Percy," Lucy answered almost immediately. "His name is Percy." Twenty-year-old Percy flushed deeply.

"Percy," Molly echoed, looking at her son. She looked like she was demanding some kind of explanation for that. Percy just shrugged his shoulders and his cheeks reddened even more. "That's not… very convenient, is it? To name him after-after—" she stuttered.

"I'm not going to change it," Lucy sounded resolute. "His name is Percy. Do you understand?"

Molly looked like a Chaser that had just been knocked out of her room, but Percy was on Lucy's side. He had to be. If he wasn't on her side, who was going to be?

"Yes, I understand," Molly looked down at him. "Welcome to the family, little Percy." Percy relaxed a little, knowing that his mum would probably have made Lucy a Christmas jumper of her own tonight. She deserved it after what happened to her. She was just as much of a victim as he was. She didn't know that she'd married an absolute sociopath after all.

Percy allowed his shoulders to slump in contentment. Baby Percy really was going to be fine. Lucy was going to make sure of it. He was not going to be looked down at because his father just happened to be a psychopath that made his mum dress up in a Hogwarts' boy school uniform. That thought still made Percy feel ill. But before he could dwell on these thoughts too much, Audrey walked into the room. Percy couldn't stop looking at her legs in that short red frock. Merlin, he was shockingly attracted to her, which was a strange feeling for him to feel. He couldn't help the Flitterbies that were forming in his stomach, or the heat that was morphing in the pit of his stomach when she passed him by.

"Percy?" Audrey looked at him with a soft expression. "There's a man outside that is livid. He called this a 'bloody safe house', not a pub where you could bring all your muggle mates in for a Christmas party. Um... should I leave?"

"Absolutely not," Percy mentioned, nuzzling his head into her hair and inhaling deeply. She'd just showered. Lovely. "I've heard that someone had decided not to consider their reconstructive surgery on account of a boring old redhead. Is it true?"

Audrey looked up at him. She wore those colours again: red and gold. He was besotted with her in a new way every day.

"I suppose," Audrey looked at him with a smirk. "I've heard that a boring old redhead is going to finally face his fears by eating gallons and gallons of Ben and Jerry's until he pops like…" she looked at the twins as they walked in in matching jumpers, "What was her name? Aunt Marge?"

"I suppose he could be persuaded," Percy said. "But they obviously didn't tell you the more interesting stories…"

"About what? How you single-handedly won the most boring person award?" Fred mentioned. "First year Binns lost."

"Did he tell you about how much he polishes his badge?" George asked Audrey. "Or how he owns more containers of broom polish than a Quidditch team even though he doesn't even own a bloody broom because they're 'unbecoming of him'?"

Percy only shot them a smug look. "Maybe I should tell mum about what really happened to her wedding dress."

"You're a bloody arsehole, do you know that?" George looked pale when Percy mentioned that. Maybe he really was as bad as they were. "Well, we can tell Snape about that time that you couldn't resist sneaking into his private quarters to wash that greasy hair of his—" Percy just flushed. He'd been justified, alright? How could that man walk around with hair that had more oil in it than his mum's famous carrot cake?!

This Christmas was the most pleasant holiday that he'd had with his family in ages. Of course, he still hated the holiday and was very glad when it was all over and he didn't have to think about it anymore. Audrey was sitting on the couch with him until late at night. They drank hot chocolate together. She kept asking him about his opinions on every holiday under the sun. Naturally, he hated all of them. Audrey decided that she was going to invent a holiday that he'd like. Like a national 'washing your hands a million times a day' holiday. Or one where you organised all your favourite paintbrushes in a pile.

"Oh, shut it," Percy said when Bill started laughing. He was supposed to be guarding him from another washing machine catastrophe or something like that. His mum didn't like Percy sleeping alone and he wasn't exactly going to tell her that he had Audrey with him now, was he? Molly was under the assumption that Audrey was sleeping in his new room. "This is private conversation!"

"Sorry," Bill said, pretending to be reading a book. What an absolute arsehole. "I wasn't listening at all. Go on."

Percy just rolled his eyes, and then sighed deeply. He didn't feel like talking anymore knowing Bill was listening.

When Bill disappeared at around one in the morning to go out with his mates, he slept with Audrey—not as in sleep beside her, he'd actually slept _with_ Audrey. Like a very normal bloke would do when he was attracted to a woman and she was attracted back to him. And because Percy was—well, himself, there wasn't exactly much of a mess to clean up afterwards. Audrey looked satisfied enough with the experience. Or well, he didn't think he'd want to ask her considering—

When Bill opened the lights at two in the morning, Percy jumped up, half-dressed and still panting.

"Were you two…?" Bill's eyes bulged. Percy looked up and actually wished he'd died those last two times. Bill was standing there with a bottle of firewhiskey in his hands, looking at Percy like he didn't recognise him. For once, it wasn't the stitching or the fact that Percy had all these degrading slurs carved into his body... but this was so much worse. "Was that your first time?"

"It was not my first time! I am not a-well, you know that I'm not a virgin," Percy told him, flushing deeply as he wrapped himself around in blankets. "Besides, I was cold."

"Cold," Bill reiterated in disbelief. "You were cold, so you decided to shag your girlfriend?" Percy went even redder. "Perce, I have to ask… how did you even manage considering how… well, I can't imagine that it wasn't _messy_ and you're not very good at coping with things that are...—"

"No, it's not. Not the way that I…" Percy couldn't believe that he was having this conversation right now. "Well, do you see a mess?"

Audrey was laughing in her hand and Percy was seriously going to reconsider where they stood in their relationship.

"How did you do that? Did you…well, I can't imagine that you got much of a release—or Audrey for that matter," Bill asked, and Percy threw a pillow over at him, which was unbecoming of him actually. But he should really just sod off. Who asked about details like that? Audrey was full on laughing right now. "I'll pay you twenty Galleons if you'd let me know exactly what you were doing! I'm curious! I mean…did you do it in your beloved shower?"

"No, I did not," he huffed in disapproval. He had to talk to her about this! She couldn't just… laugh at him when his brother interrogated him like this. "She refused."

After that distasteful episode, Percy found himself walking along the hallway. He'd never really noticed how gigantic this place was until he really started to look at it.

In the depth of a dark hallway, Percy closed his eyes and envisioned Clarence's household. He remembered being a little child, walking out of the room with gigantic pyjama bottoms that were starting to slip off his hips and an aching feeling in his body. Then Percy remembered going home, exhausted. He remembered his mum tucking him into his bed and telling him that he was going to be alright. Percy remembered waking up at around five in the morning with his mum talking to a healer. She'd made a house call because of how odd he was acting. But it was just him adjusting, wasn't it...?

Percy picked up his wand from his rucksack. He hadn't used it in months, but it felt like years.

"Percy?" Arthur finally found him in the middle of the corridor. "What are you doing here?"

Percy looked at his wand. He felt a whole era flash before his eyes. He had made his choice. He was going to stay here with his family, and he truly believed that this was the best choice for him now. He loved Gloria and Stephen as much as he loved his own parents at times, even though they had just been two faceless muggles a few months ago. His life had a new meaning, just like _The Persistence of Memory_ did the second that he remembered where he'd come from. How solid memory was, how flexible, how malleable, yet how fragile it was that it could be taken away with a single spell. How the clocks of time just ebbed away before his very eyes. He was six a few seconds ago, and now he was twenty and standing in a hallway with his father all alone.

He looked at Arthur Weasley and saw him for what he was for the first time in years. He saw a young man and an aging father at the same time. Percy saw his inexperience, and yet he saw the wisdom. He saw something that...made him really respect him. And feel ashamed that he hadn't respected him that night that they had that stupid fight in the first place.

"A pine wand," Arthur said breathlessly, as Percy looked down at it. "You know, there has never been a documented case of a wizard dying young with a pine wand. But you already know that... considering you've managed to cheat death twice. That really is an adventure, isn't it?"

"I suppose," the wand was just wood between his fingers. Percy didn't find any magic in the wizarding world anymore. He was unnerved that the kettles ran on magical currents. The thought of arithmancy bored him like no other."But it's really just a wand. It had no effect on anything that happened to me in the last few months, but I'm sure that you know that, don't you?"

"Yes but… well, it's your wand," Arthur said, looking at him with a soft expression. "Percy, I... I didn't mean what I said. The night that we fought. I-"

"You did… I did too," Percy begged to differ. "And you're right but you are so wrong and… does it really matter now?"

"I don't think it does," Arthur admitted, breathing out a sigh of relief. "I just can't believe what happened after. I thought you'd died. When I discovered you have a new family, I really thought I'd lost you. When you regained your memories, I thought that it was all over and you could just come home...and we could forget that this horrible thing ever happened. But you couldn't. You'd even called Gloria your mother. I don't know what happened in your life in the last few months, but it was a gift just as much as it was my curse. But it's hard for us too, Percy. I know it's not as hard as it is for you... knowing what you have to deal with, but you have to understand that it's hard knowing that the place that you were defiled in is our _home_."

"Yes, well…" Percy cleared his throat, and then offered him a watery, uncertain smile. "Why do you think I never wanted to tell you?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "Yes, well…um..." he pulled out a little silvery present. "Look. I've bought this for you. I didn't know when it would be appropriate to give this to you but..."

Percy looked at the horrible wrapping. It was actually an embarrassment, but he knew that that meant that his father had wrapped it himself. He tore through the package, which actually made it more appealing. His heart thudded loudly into his chest when he saw Gilderoy Lockhart's autobiography in his hands. _Who Am I?_ was staring back at him.

"It's never going to be an appropriate time to give this to me. This is an..." Percy finally decided to say, biting his lip so that he didn't laugh. "An absolutely horrible, deplorable, disturbing..."

Then he just couldn't keep it anymore. He started laughing. Here he was having an identity crisis and his father managed to find the one book in the world that Percy wouldn't want to read if someone paid him to do it.

"I thought it might help," Arthur finally said, but he was trying not to laugh himself. "After all, he was always one of your idols." Arthur burst into laughter.

"Idols?" Percy reiterated with a raised eyebrow. "That self-obsessed near-bipolar lunatic with an ego of..." he paused because wasn't he describing Dali too?

He stared at his father and found a mirror in him too. He didn't know it, but everyone was little mirrors of each other if you looked hard enough. Gala and Dali, so far apart from each other yet died in the same room. Married yet distant from Gala's infidelity. Close to his heart yet a thousand miles away in a castle in Spain. Where did this leave them?

"You have a job now—well, the twins told me at least that you do," Arthur said, only for Percy to nod his head. "An artistic job, even though you were certain you were not going to pursue an artistic career," his father was smirking at him and Percy's smile widened. "How did that happen again?"

"Yes, well, I didn't expect it either," Percy admitted. "Penelope believed that…I could be something."

"I... I thought that you really were going to go back to a desk job. I think deep down, I was under the impression that nothing really was going to change," Arthur admitted. Percy thought the same thing too. He never envisioned that he would be in this position. "As I understand, you're going to live here, and you have a job here…and I suppose that you're going to be visiting the Shephard's every now and then, wouldn't you? Considering everything that happened. Is that right?"

"I believe so," Percy honestly mentioned, looking at his wand in his hand. "Except…"

"Except…?" Arthur looked at him with a confused expression.

Percy looked back at the wand in his hand, and then he snapped it in half. Arthur jumped up, looking at Percy like he was insane, but for the first time in ages, Percy was really satisfied with his decision. "Well… I never exactly said I was going to go back to using magic," he reminded Arthur, who just stared at him like he announced he was going undercover for the Order. Well, he was going to be painting things for the rest of his life if things went to plan. What did he need a wand for? He didn't want a wand. He wanted a new car. One that didn't fly. "I really would rather not."

Arthur cocked his head to one side. "What are you doing?" he sounded pained. "You can't be a wizard without a wand!"

"No, I can't," Percy decided, feeling a huge weight off his shoulders that he didn't even know that he'd been carrying all this time. He saw the pieces of wood in his hands. That was all they were now, weren't they? He looked down at Gilderoy Lockhart's smiling face and felt a warmth spread in his chest. "But I don't think I want to be a wizard after all."

"You want to be a muggle," Arthur finally concluded. "You want to work in the wizarding world as a _muggle?_ Do you know that that doesn't make any sense? Most people that break their wands go into the muggle world but you're…and did you forget that there's a war going on? How could you broke your bloody wand when... do you know how little sense that makes, Percy?"

He supposed as little sense as the amount of elephants that Dali had in his paintings.

Percy just smiled weakly and looked down at the floor. Him. A pureblood wizard in the one of the most pureblood family in the world, overtly rejecting the magical world. He felt like he was sharing a secret with Dali and his nonsensical feats. He bet that even Luna Lovegood would stare at him like he was mental. "I... I'm also taking that year off to find myself."

He also wondered to know how long it took for a wheel of Camembert to melt in Spain. It really was on his mind a lot.

"Yes, well, you're going to need reading material, wouldn't you?" Arthur asked, only for Percy's smile to widen. "Do you want to take a copy of _Magical Me_ with you too?"

* * *

 _Arthur's last comment refers to the fact that this fanfiction's title is a play-on 'Magical Me' as much as the Devil Wears Prada is the obvious inspiration for the Devil Wears Second-Hand Robes._


End file.
